Today's picture lunch was one of the most interesting yet. My good friend Christine suggested we follow a geocache (www.geocaching.com for all you Muggles) titled "Fun With Concrete." We drove through this little neighborhood in Aurora, Illinois to find a run down, condemed, house that looked like it was going to collapse any minute. On, in and around this house was sculpture after sculpture of what appeared to be slaves. I have posted a few of the photos here, but to see them all, visit my Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1084839809&ref=profile, or my website at www.fantamphotography.com (under the fine art gallery).

After lunch I went back to the office to do a little research. Here is what I found:

The African-American Heritage Museum and Black Veteran's Archives
http://www.narrowlarry.com/nlaahm.html

artist: dr. charles smith (born: 1940)
built: 1986 - 2001
where: 126 south kendall street, aurora, illinois
status: sculptures no longer on property (dr. smith has moved to hammond, louisiana)

In 1986, in the yard of his small home on the east side of Aurora, Dr. Charles Smith began building his vision: a sculptural monument dedicated to the contributions and experiences of African-Americans. Before his vision, Dr. Smith, a Vietnam Veteran, had felt lost in pain and anger. Then he received his inspiration: "God told me, 'Use Art - I give you a weapon', just like He gave Dr. King the Gandhi strategy." From that moment on and despite the fact that he had never received training in art, his house lot started to fill with sculpted tributes to the leaders and martyrs of Black America: Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Emmett Till, and Martin Luther King among them. In addition, there are memorials to the 4,000 Black Americans who died in Vietnam, to victims of the Rwanda tragedy, as well as to whites that helped with the Underground Railroad.

As scholar Lisa Stone writes, "The African-American Heritage Museum and Black Veterans Archives is equal parts memorial and mirror, commemorating and reflecting the complexity of late 20th Century life, and its elaborate, and at times bewildering, commingled histories."

In 2002, Dr. Smith moved from Illinois in order to start two new museums in Hammond & New Orleans, Louisiana. (The New Orleans project, known as the Algiers Folk Art Zone, is a collaboration with artist Charles Gillam.) Forever passionate, forever formidable, forever free, Dr. Charles Smith continues to spread his message of remembrance, hope, and vision.

I opened my blog the other day for the first time in weeks and noticed that I had a follower. Expecting it to be a friend or relative, I clicked on the comment to see that it was Jodie LeJeune, author of the beautiful and inspiring blog Everything Vintage (http://jodielejeune.blogspot.com/). I had a follower that I didn't know! So, excitedly, I clicked on her comment, which congratulated me for being published in the new issue of Artful Blogging. Huh?!

I sent Jodie an email as she must be mistaken, but she replied, "Yes girl, you are published in the May issue which will be out on May 1st. Your article is listed in the "Buzz" on page 3... It was late in the evening and although my excitement was mounting to get my hands on the magazine, I had to wait until the next day. Morning came and I realized that the book store wouldn't be open until after I was at work, so I had to wait until my lunch hour. Noon finally came and off my friend and I went to see my name in print. Alas, the bookstore did not get their copies yet. We tried another nearby store and, again, not available. I must wait until after work.

On my way home, driving a bit too fast, I stopped at another bookstore, just to be disappointed yet again. Now I had to hurry home to prepare my son for his baseball game and would not have another opportunity to look for the magazine until evening. After the game (which our team won 12-5 yippee!), I decided to call another store and YES they had one copy and would hold it for me at the front counter.

I got to the bookstore and had my husband open it and read it to me. There, on page 3 was my first ever blog comment, left to Susannah, author of the beautiful blog Ink on my Fingers (http://inkonmyfingers.typepad.com). It reads:

"On having a very rough morning at the office yesterday, I decided to spend my lunch in a quiet corner of the nearby coffee shop. Before I bought my very large caramel, skim, latte, I browsed through the magazine rack. Somehow the bright blue cover of Artful Blogging, a magazine I never heard of before, caught my eye. I took it over to the couch in the corner with my giant cup of coffee and haven't stopped reading it since. I have now started a blog, and hopefully with a little nurturing, it will grow into the photographic/art journal I've always known is inside of me.
Tammy Fanara

www.heartssprings.blogspot.com."

I couldn't believe it. MY words, recognized by such inspiring writers! It gave me an inner joy that can only be explained one way... my hearts springs went "boing-oing" all for myself. What a feeling!

Thank you Jodie! Thank you Susannah! Thank you Artful Blogging! Thank you Universe!

Every night my six-year-old, Tony, wants to sleep in my bed, and every night we argue and struggle and do our best to get him to sleep in his own room. Tony has many excuses for not wanting to sleep alone, such as his bed is uncomfortable (so we bought him a new mattress); he has nightmares (so we read him happy bedtime stories); he just cannot fall asleep by himself (so he is a regular warm-milk drinker); and mostly, he gets "lonely."

Sometimes my husband and I give in (usually it is me), or sometimes we let him fall asleep in our bed and then carry him to his own room. We are trying to eliminate this scneario also, as he is getting very big and heavy. I could not have imagined Tony could come up with some new tactic to get me to allow him to sleep next to me again, until last night.

After brushing his teeth, he began the normal routine of begging to let him sleep in my bed, and my trying not to get frustrated as I tell him over and over that he has to sleep in his own room. He told me, "I'm closer to you when I sleep in your room." To which I replied, "Tony, I'm going downstairs to watch tv for a little while, so you'll be closer to me if you sleep in your own room since it is closer to the stairway." Tony mustered every ounce of puppy-dog-eyes and said to me, "My heart mom.... my heart will be closer to you if I fall asleep in your room."

I pulled back the covers, gave his smirky smile a big kiss and said goodnight.

...why can't they stay six forever?

On our last picture lunch we walked over this little bridge that looks so old and rusty, yet was just recently built. It made me wonder about all of the changes I've made in my life: about the many times I felt I was at a new beginning and the steps I had to take to get where I needed to be.

I am 40-years-old and I feel like this old rusty bridge, that is actually brand new. I've spent a lot of years getting where I am; but, I am only just beginning. Where do I go from here? Everywhere, crossing bridges as I get to them.

An old, dear friend of mine is dealing with some very serious decisions in her life. She is a very expressive writer and I asked her to write something to express what she is going through. The result was this beautiful poem that, I believe, epitomizes the emotional roller-coaster that comes with new beginnings in a person's life.

Here, right here, middle of the road.
How is this life going to unfold?
Do I turn left? Turn right? Or return?
Anyway I go I might be burned.
>
Maybe, I should stay right here.
Nice and cozy, no change to fear.
Watching the birds playing in the sun.
Feeling the rain dance is so much fun.
>
Though something seems to be missing.
Should something be different, I am guessing?
I know this place oh so well.
What is wrong I cannot tell.
>
Am I changing in this place?
Is it me that has a different face?
That could be right after all.
Life is to precious to let it fall.
>
I must go down this winding road.
Change is inevitable, I am told.
It could be good or it could be a tragedy.
I guess that happiness doesn't appear magically.
>
I must take control of where my life goes.
Good or bad, it is mine to bestow.
Change, yes change, has to occur.
My heart, my soul, my life must stir.
>
Hold on, there will be a lot of bumps.
I am sure I will feel my heart thumb.
Come on life, come on change!
If I don't go forward, I will be shortchanged.

...crossing life's bridges

There is art all around us. Most of the time no one notices the details that are put into the creation of everyday-things. Sometimes I look around and I'm amazed at the way a table leg is perfectly curved, or how the stitching on my favorite pair of jeans is perfectly symmetrical. The bowls in your kitchen may be mass produced in some factory on the other side of the world, but at some point they were designed by someone. The weave of a blanket, the color of the paint on your walls, the label on your favorite bottle of wine. These things are all someone's art.

For our second-weekly photo lunch, Tanya and I headed to the mall. It was too cold for us to find an outdoor spot, and in the middle of the food-court there is a pretty little carousel. So I grabbed a Subway sammie and we pulled out our cameras. At first I started trying to get full shots of the colorful horses and other animals; then, as usual, I started noticing the designs and detail that went into the creation of this beautiful work of art.



Look around the room you are in right now. Besides the paintings or photographs on your wall, see the art. Let the beauty of every little thing sink in for a minute, and appreciate the art all around us.

My friend and I lamented at the office the other day about how with work and family and busy schedules we never have time to simply take pictures. We both are photography buffs, but rather than life imitating art, it seems our lives get in the way of art. We both are "the glass is half full" kind of people, and so came up with a simple solution to our little dilemma. We decided to spend one lunch hour

per week taking pictures of something. We will take turns picking the location and/or subject matter, and stop whining and start shooting (photos that is). Below is a snippet of our first weekly, Wednesday Photo Lunches.

Driving to work each day, Tanya (my good friend) passes a forest preserve and a little bench sitting alongside a walking path catches her eye. Every time she passes it she thinks, I would love to stop and take a pictures of that bench. So we decided to do just that.

This little bench seemed so lonely and worn out. It's paint chipped and missing in spots; pieces of it's back side were completely missing; and rusty bolts and screws were left in their place. Behind the bench were the remnants of Winter's long months, with brown grass, leafless trees and random trash scattered through the dried weeds. What was left of the paint on the lonely bench was a beautiful bright teal, juxtaposed against this sad, forgotten backdrop.
After taking several photos of the bench and all its details, I sat down for a minute and stretched my arm across it's broken back. A tree once gave its life for this lonely bench, I thought the least I could do is give it a little company.


...life's energy is in everything

At different points in my life I've kept a journal. I was never consistent, sometimes writing every day, sometimes only once a year. Although, in the last two or three years, I haven't journaled at all. This new medium (for me), the blog, has me thinking about how and what I used to write about. My journals were very personal, written only for my own self preservation. I have always hidden my writings away from others, in a sock drawer or on a top shelf in my closet. Yesterday I decided to pull a few of them out and see if there is anything I would feel comfortable sharing; anything worthy of putting down here, for anyone to read. Here goes...

4/1/1999

I stood outside late last night, my eyes closed, my neck tilted slightly back so that my face pointed towards what would have been a full moon had there not been a cloud covering the night sky. The air was so moist that an ever-so-slight mist carressed my cheeks. I froze there with my arms stretched out and just breathed. I let the air surge through my body, aware of every sensation.

The Winter cold is finally over, I thought as I took one more deep inhale. What a wonderful feeling....

...the smell of Spring

After having the opportunity to speak several times with an old flame, whom my brother never really got over, I asked him how it felt. He said, "You know that feeling you get when you're driving down the road and you narrowly escape an accident? In an instant your heart races super fast, your skin gets hot all over and you're keenly aware of every color, sound and detail of what's going on around you. That's the feeling I get whenever my phone rings and I know it's her."

I almost started crying from such a vivid expression of pure joy. I imagined all the springs in his heart making that "boing-oing" sound as it practically jumped out of his chest. I then automatically pictured myself drawing that picture: a red heart bouncing, on the glint of a silver spring, wrapped around it like a protective a metal hug. It has been a long time since I picked up a pencil and a sketch book. Even when I did sketch regularly, I never used color. This image, this art, is bold and red and must get down on paper - in color. I may have to make several variations of it before it is just right, but I will start making art again.

...the inspiration for Hearts Springs