The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

This is a drawing of a root pulled from the ground. Unsigned but every bit the signature of its creator, it was done in oil crayon by an artist who was once my closest friend. A reckless vitality courses all along its length. The energy tensed in it reminds me of these lines by Dylan Thomas:
     "The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Tough times ahead. They're already here.

There are certain works of art the body wholly understands before the mind kicks in with its distancing powers of disembodied detachment and analysis. In the Twin Cities, there is very little art in the public realm -- in what we now call "the commons"-- that does this. Most public art, strained through the cheesecloth of three or four bureaucracies, is earnestly mediocre, almost by necessity. Much of what wins competitions is "plop art," dutifully commissioned to meet the tithing requirement for one-percent-for-art public building projects.

The melancholy in the eyes of the gorilla imprisoned in the zoo, I think it is real. He is confounded by the loss of his freedom. He sorrows at what his captors have evolved into.

Minneapolis has two life-size bronze sculptures of gorillas by the late British artist Angus Fairhurst, who this past March committed suicide by hanging himself from a tree in a forest in England at the age of 41. One of them is in the courtyard of the Chambers Hotel at Ninth and Hennepin; the other is sited on the green outside the west window of the Walker Art Center.

1st place winner for most original sculpture:--- 2007 Minnesota Celebrity Butter Carving Contest:

Every year I participate in a week's worth of events at the Minnesota State Fair, and granted, the Fair is not until August, BUT I figured this year I should get a jump start honing my skills so I can shoot for the Gold in the AGRI-OLYMPICS.

What she didn't understand, Miriam thought, what she really didn't understand was this stupid cherry on a spoon. The huge sculpture sat there in its lake, its bright red cherry poised happily on the grey spoon-bowl's ridge, a symbol of Minneapolis. What about it excited people? What, exactly, was the point? She sat on the grass by the pond, head tilted upward, mulling it.