At the suggestion of my writing partner Elizabeth, I went to a sculpture garden for an evening stroll. This was an attempt, in the metaphor of Jack London, to stalk our muses with a cudgel. Inspiration is sometimes far too fleeting. This particular garden has many sculptures based on classical paintings with works particularly by the expressionists rendered in three dimensions. Renoir, Monet, Munch, and Grant Wood are all represented. Being winter, the sun set early and masses of birds reeled overhead. Subdued lights kept the pathways illuminated, but when walking by a tall hedge we were startled when birds would suddenly began flapping their wings in the stillness. You couldn’t see them. Silence and then sudden flapping. Being in a sculpture garden at night is uncanny. Many statues of people—easily mistaken for human beings in the daylight even—can be glimpsed in the half-light. Are they other visitors here for a stroll or ar...
Blog of a struggling writer.