A Ride to the Past

My family is flawed. Because of that, the research into my roots for my art project has often stalled. I write about leaders and pioneers in their fields who are acclaimed for their achievements. Yet with a little searching I find them prejudiced, mysogynist, racist, or thieving. Many harbored opinions that I consider untenable today. My family story, much of it a story of white males, had to be balanced a bit by focus on the strong matriarchs. The women come to light (and literature) in the branch of Americans that wrote books and kept diaries. I want to focus on the brilliant and inspiring Florence Cowles, (1861- 1950), who grew up in Algona and traveled the world visiting schools and talking to teachers. That is what drove me to the Midwest last week- a need to gain a clearer perspective on the people I admire.

Florence and Gardner Sr and their home famous for mandatory Family Sunday Lunches

Our week in Iowa felt much fuller than a mere 7 days, for the amount of time we spent in the past. From the moment we landed at the airport and took the road named after my granddad into the city, we were faced with signs of family legacy from the late 1800's to mid 1900's. It was special traveling with my mother. She had grown very quiet over the summer, and on the trip her memories came flooding back. She remembered details, names and addresses and recounted little stories every where we went! I booked us a room in the Savery Hotel, Des Moines' first sky scraper at 13 stories, across from the Cowles Commons. We looked out to the capital building dome covered in 23 carot gold. Grand Avenue linked us to her childhood neighborhood, her grandparents home and the art center. 

Though Florence spent one year at the Chicago Institute of Art, her legacy is in the education emphasis of the Des Moines Art Center

After a few days in Des Moines we ventured up through a sea of corn and soy crops to Kossuth County and the town my relatives founded, Algona in 1854. Within minutes of arriving in the sleepy town, we saw fliers about the restoration of a family grave and colorful murals across multiple buildings referencing Asa and Ambrose, the patriarchs of our Cowles branch of the family! Ambrose is Florence's father. Needless to say, we were welcomed warmly to the Kossuth County Historical Society and quickly overwhelmed with the amount of information and personal items in the collection. All my questions were answered and I only wished my sisters could have been there to glean from their own perspective from the treasures on display. 

 

Mid week we visited the Meskwakie Nation in Tama, and had to ourselves an afternoon in the Tribal Museum. It was important for me because any story of my pioneer ancestors has to acknowledge the settler colonialism that crushed the indigenous population. Manifest Destiny was firmly in the minds of the pioneering Asa and Ambrose and the land they staked a claim to had other residents. 

 My time in Iowa answered many questions about the limitations of my ancestors and exposed me to their liberal leanings. I came to see that they were compassionate and on record as eventually supporting the Meskwakie (Sac and Fox) in their bid to return and own land. People like Governor Grimes were real heroes, changing the tide and protecting the native Iowans from the homesteaders. Florence's diary detailed some of the cultural interactions she witnessed between her mother and the destitute tribes that passed through. The stories of the settler's survival emphasized their willingness to treat the natives fairly and peacefully in all transactions. I learned about a handful of other people who also felt the enslavement of blacks and the incarceration of natives were wrong and to be protested. I feel relieved that Florence spent time and money securing decent support for the natives and spoke up about the civil rights of all those less fortunate. 

 

Of course there was Hezekiah, Ambrose' wife's father... my great great great grandfather and Florence Cowles' grandfather). He and his brothers fought in the Black Hawk and Civil war, clearing the natives away from good farm lands and from potential cross-continental routes to rich mines.

Dignity for Jo Davidson

This is personal family history, art history and American History!

Taken from text written by Bradbury Kuett:

The Centerpiece of the Louis I. Kahn designed FDR Four Freedoms State Park on Roosevelt Island in New York is a triumphant bronze head of FDR, sculpted by the renowned artist Jo Davidson, a fervent supporter and friend of the president.

At the park's entrance there are engraved the names of the architect, the founder of the Park Conservancy, and the donors, but Jo Davidson's name is nowhere to be found.

Appeals to the board to engrave Jo Davidson's name have been met with silence. This unfortunate oversight, inconsequential in the view of the board, is a slight that, in effect, denies Jo Davdison his rightful recognition in American art History. Whereas Jo Davidson should be heralded as an American success story of consummate artistry, the board's silence is an outrage thrown onto the great heap of innuendos and falsities hurled upon Jo, a native son of the lower east side.

Jo Davidson should be celebrated beyond prominence as an artist. Chairman of Independent Voters' Committee of the Arts and Sciences for Roosevelt, and vice chairman of Emergency Committee to Save the Jewish People of Europe, Jo chose with a colleague the site of the Warsaw Ghetto Memorial Piaza in Riverside Park.

While Jo was under constant surveillance during the Cold War, the government targeted his two sons. Jacques (Tilly's note: my stepgrandfather) a Voice of Freedom (VOA) to the French under German occupation, was blacklisted, fired from CBS radio without cause. U.S. agents urged without success, Agence France Presse in D.C. to fire Jean.

Of note, Danielle Benedite, brother of Jacques wife, worked with Varian Fry in Marseille France, and saved some 1500 people from Nazi capture.

We ask that the Park's Board Chair Barbara Shattuck Kohn, Vice Chair Katrina vanden Heuvel and President Sally Minard redress this unjust situation by engraving the name of Jo Davidson on a plaque at the Park's entrance, similar to the one honoring Loius. I. Kahn. And we ask your support in this effort

Facebook: DignityforJodavidson

contact dignity4JoDavidson@gmail.com

Nightmares

(continued Daily Drawings during the Covid Pandemic)

Nightmares/ April 24

A month into the national quarantine and numbers of deaths silently continue to rise. Unemployment increases are shouted about in the news. Congress tries to print more money. Alternative stations start floating conspiracy theories. The president encourages protesters to ignore the science, suggests injesting bleach, and screams hysterical over trying to find someone to blame.  No one I know will talk politics, because it is too exhausting and unbelievable. What outrages us one day is overshadowed the next. I feel like I am holding my breath and waiting.

The city, two hours away, empties out and soon all the empty houses on our country road are filled with city people. The stores seem ransacked. There is still no toilet paper to be had. Or whole wheat flour. The trash thrown along the road reflects a higher economic shopper. Maybe we are all high, panting thru stifled homemade masks.

Mask Making/ April 11

I attend church on line, and the local hospital erects a tent in the parking lot to handle the expected rise in patients.  I can’t sleep and worry about my job as a school teacher.

Easter Sunday/ April 12

Hospital Tent/ April 13

Thoughts on the creative act

It is a gift to bring the tools of art-making to someone and open their world up to magic.

Michael and his daughter-in-law and grandson

We all have inside us something delightful to share. Somewhere in the early teens it is squashed by critics, both knowing and unknowing. That is why Picasso said it took him years to learn to paint like a child.
Stories and pictures, from our ancestors to the present, help us define who we are and why we are here. Those types of questions, it has been suggested, separate us from other animals. We are, if not in bare survival mode, always asking. It is good to write your own story from time to time.

Here we Are by Oliver Jeffers

The creative act connects us to a higher force, a power of energy that was there with the creation of everything in the Universe. Whether it is cooking, or cleaning, or sewing, or carving little Gnomes out of driftwood, when we are doing a creative act we can be present for our life. And what results is a gift for others, like your grandparents, total strangers, your pets, and your parents. A truly creative act will resonate much further than the origin, going across boundaries of time and space. This goes for making weapons as well as making love. So chose with awareness that some things will be funny and others quite sobering.

Follower's Offer

Since 2006 I have been blogging, but not as consistently as when I wanted to paint and sell a painting each day. Somewhere in the middle years I got busy, moved, got a full time teaching job, and lost the discipline of checking in. Now I am back at the writers desk, honing my vocabulary and dreaming of essays that turn heads and guide people to find art that delights and surprises them.

You, my followers, also must have gotten busy, taken full-time jobs, moved on to other apps and even (in hushed tones) died on me. 😞

Today, checking my stats I see that there is only a dozen of you that still check in and I'm so very humbly grateful. Surely it is time to give you some gratitude!!!
Let me know how I can send you a small gift, such as an unframed painting from my morning walks. For every follower/subscriber, I will send a small painting right now in gratitude for your support. It means a lot to me. Just go to my profile link and see where you can email me your address.

🎁

In the year ahead I plan on writing more regularly, unveiling new directions of thought, sharing some lessons and peeks into my families art history. I hope to keep you curious.

The Secret Fear of an Overachiever

If left to my own devises, I would probably lounge around post coital, musing about life and eat chips all day. But instead I tell myself that I may die soon, and I have much to accomplish in limited time.

With that in my head, I can barely sit down for tea!

Time to reflect

It's the time of year where we're attracted to looking back and looking forward. It seems the calendar for 2020 might be potently laden with hindsight. There has been a lot of struggle going on all over the planet. Even though we live in a period of massive prosperity and un-imagined peace, the news fills us in with the horrors of incarcerated children at our countries borders, as we live sandwiched between them and the sorrow of leaky corporate oil lines trespassing Native American reservations. What can I do?

Politics is such a messy money filled game. I gave thousands of dollars in small increments this year to buoy favorite candidates and causes. It seems never enough and always more to do.
What can I do?

We moved from a southern city to the northeast countryside. From apartment living to managing an old house and a couple acres. We feel new to the neighborhood. I love having the seasons again at my door. I enjoy the folks down the road at the farm, and our friends who swing by to chat and drop off jams, soaps and even driveway salt! How can they ever know how thankful we are? It seems so warm up here!

Every morning Michael and I take an early morning walk. Its a balm to our souls. I also think it has helped us acclimate to the environment. Today, when I saw it was 40 degrees, I thought that I didn't need to wear long underwear! Surely, I am almost native now!!!

The Trixi Strauss Annual Christmas Bird Count

Trixi and my Grandpa, Bill Strauss

Since returning to the farm 6 months ago, I have become aware of slight memories and remnants of my grandparents in almost everything I do. Perhaps I am closer to their age, but for whatever reason, I think of them both a lot more than usual when walking around the farm, prepping food in the kitchen, or hanging with my dad. Their spirit infuses the land. One of my favorite sweaters to wear when I write is a green one knitted and worn by Trixi. It has a slip of paper in the pocket like she always had. So I was excited to do more this year with keeping the Trixi Strauss Audobon Annual Christmas Bird Count alive. It is organized by the Sharon Audobon Center, a few miles away.

I set up my post just inside the bedroom windows, looking towards the back yard, two full birdseed holders and a suet cage.

Then I watched the sun come up. The high winds must have kept the birds away... until the first little Slate grey Junco arrived. Then pairs of Tufted Titmice came. We had a finch, and a couple small cowbirds.

I think these are cowbirds.

One of three aggressive Blue Jays

I am an amateur armed with bird books, binoculars and paint. The overall abundance of birdseed visitors this morning have been the woodpeckers. I am so pleased. We have them in all sizes, from the Downy to the Red Headed, and even a noble Pileated was seen landing on the backyard trees.

#dailypainting #birdwatcher #woodpecker
And now- at 5pm, the feeders are abandoned as the light of day turns to the dark of night.

Inside Out in the neighborhood

Every couple days on my morning walk up Morse Hill road, I circle back through the Kildonan School campus. Hoping to get a job there this fall, I recently moved back into the area, into my home across the street from the large and now empty campus.  This August, the campus sits quiet and weeds grow in front of the building entryways. The sudden mid-summer announcement of the closing of the school has left the neighborhood guessing, and left me, a former and future hopeful teacher, in a state of hyper-dreamism where past memories, future visions and current truths are all braid together.

Two students, larger-than-life, with books the size of my car, peer at me as I pass. They are the ghostly remains of an art project initiated by Hunt, a Kildonan student who was inspired by a JR Ted talk, whose INSIDE OUT project encourages peoples from around the globe to express themselves. Hunt, a very generous dyslexic advocate, aimed to use JR’s INSIDE OUT project as a platform to raise dyslexia awareness and empower young people with dyslexia. Kildonan was a school with the focus to help kids with dyslexia express themselves through one-on-one tutoring and student driven projects.

Back in 2013, Hunt photographed every student on campus and worked with production managers from JR’s studio to paste the portraits to the driveway, the schoolhouse and the library. Still wheat-pasted on the side of the shuttered library six years later, the last two students are emblematic of how the art of the INSIDE OUT project created by the international social practicing post studio artist JR continues to give agency to the marginalized. I am hoping that the thousands of anxiety and academic suffering students this fall will find the support that they need.

Please check out the links above to hear JR talk about his projects, and to hear Hunt share his enthused participation in projects empowering kids in school.