Category: Art

The Creek in Winter at Night

The creek under a waxing moon.

Trivia night let out at midnight. The ground was still covered with a smooth layer of snow. The meltwater from the daytime sun had refrozen to make the snow crisp on top, like a cold crème brûlée. The moon was close to full. I had my camera.

The moon reflected in a pool partially covered by ice.

I spent about twenty minutes traipsing through the woods along the banks of the creek. Not having a tripod made it impossible to get long-exposure without setting the camera down somewhere stable, so I ended up lying prone on the snow. Whilst my jacket and sweater made my top half well insulated, there was just a single layers of broadcloth separating my legs from the snow. I didn’t have a problem with the cold, but my body heat melted the snow, and I got wet.

But it was worth it.

Recycled Instruments: A Cello Made From Some Wood and an Oil Can

“My life would be worthless without music.”

— Young Paraguayan violinist.

The Fulton School has a wonderful music program, so I’m hoping that this video, about how Paraguayan children living in a slum on a landfill have recycled classical instruments out of the trash, resonates with some of my environmental science students.

Landfill Harmonic film teaser from Landfill Harmonic on Vimeo.

↬ The Dish

Of course, we’ve seen other instruments invented out of discarded trash. The BBC has a brief history of the steel pan, but Trinbagopan.com has an much more detail. On the other hand, I prefer my history in a musical form.

Shrimps are not for Wimps

Shrimps are not for Wimps
by Abby Reynolds

One day I walked into the science class,
I was preoccupied as I looked into the looking glass.
For Dr. Urbano had cooked up a surprise,
And after I wished I was at the car rental Enterprise.
Then I would be able to drive away,
From the disgusting horrors I saw that day.
It started with a metal tray,
With icky rubber a sickly gray.
He brought the probe and scalpel too,
My o my, Sydney turned blue!
Then a smelly smell filled the room,
Making us cough and gag all too soon.
When I saw the shrimp my stomach did flip-flop,
For the color was like that of a caramel lollipop.
I inhaled through my mouth to calm my brain,
Trying not to think how the shrimp was slain.
It helped somewhat until I saw Sydney,
Who was slicing and dicing at a kidney.
She looked up and grinned a big grin,
A smear of blood dripping down her chin.
I will kindly spare you the rest of the story,
For I fear that it gets MUCH too gory!

And there I was thinking that the shrimp dissection had gone rather well.

Dispensing Poetry

William Sieghart does a wonderful question and answer in his Poetry Pharmacy in the Guardian, where he recommends poetry to salve his questioners existential (and not so existential) needs.

For example:

Hi William,

Do you have any poems that clear up a hangover or diarrhoea (preferably both)?

Dr Sieghart’s remedy:

Sounds like you have been living life to the full! Why not congratulate yourself on the good times you enjoyed yesterday rather than being miserable about your today’s predicament? Dryden’s Happy the Man is a good bet:

Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

Another:

It’s a restriction insisted upon by my tenancy – I’m not allowed to keep a dog. I need a poem to help fill the gap left by the absence of a faithful hirsute canine companion. Dr Sieghart, what do you suggest?

Dr Sieghart’s remedy:
I prescribe some of the most famous words in English – ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ by Oscar Hammerstein II. The great consoling line of the title comes after the pain of isolation:

Walk on, through the wind
Walk on, through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone
You’ll never walk alone.