#56…Considering further playful thoughts…

Parents and grandparents are the audience for most performances by wee ones.  As a consequence this post may get a bit boring for those of you who prefer your childishness played out by adults.


The Deciders have decided that the new systemized education (play training) should begin where we expect the children to end up.  To that end, The Decider-In-Chief (this is self-named, not what We named anyone; The Deciders are servants to the reunion’s best functioning, shown by their hobby-horse head personae): anyhow, that Decider appointed an announcer, a slick-stick hobby-horse personae, with the duty of introducing the children and their various acts in our recital.


The recital began with a dramatic presentation of the lives of famous hobby-horse cavalrymen.  This is definitely old-style dramatization of imagination as portraying goal-focused adventures for youth.


Next was a rather sappy maudlin story of a lost little girl.  According to a legend she finds a mysterious decorated cannon-ball, belonging to some knight-errant, prince, or cavalier.  Lots of tears as this bit advanced the plot.img_0018




Next was an acrobatic review of how much the students had habituated into the arts of dealing with “adult” situations, the somewhat athletic control of emotion bombs.







This was loudly applauded, the skill being accentuated by keeping the propeller spinning.  Variations of this were detailed by the announcer.


The closing was an invented ancient ceremonial “Lighting Of The Fuse” with flint and steel, recalling the everlasting need to be prepared to ignite an emotion bomb.




The child playing this scene is probably the best example of the training The Decider -In-Chief advocates for the The Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture’s day care.




The audience gasped as a curious errant child came centerstage. The announcer, warning about the bluntly obvious danger, was quickly dealt with by the so-called Decider-In-Chief who also dismissed the curtain call as potentially unruly.


The solution to danger warnings…for the moment.  Hopefully, next week we can have some dancing, join us.





#39…considering the end of a season…


Outside of the tent we are running out of color, at least the dramatically named ones.  We are moving into the drawing, structural season.  The surface is grids, roads and the limits of property.  Grids, the gift of the ancients, are favored structures by most artists and farmers (satellite x and y’s coordinate their behemoths).   All is moving toward tumbled carved blacks, dirty and dusty whites rubbed and overlaid, linear leggy weedy gray gestures; some dull, some sharp.


Our tent, close to the path of America’s Mother Road, is holding a gathering of venerable artistics.  The  gathering of artistic enfant terribles and the subsequent museum, is an new idea for the prairie and a type of hope for the artistics.  Some may appear a bit weird or disconcerting, like our tent out on the cornland.  But the prairie is not a strange or weird land, even stripped of its’ green, even with the behemoths (the combine harvesters) devouring endless acres of grain.  This place is visually sensible, a continuity with subtle ornamentation; old and new grain elevators developed and discarded due to technical (financial) reasons, various outbuildings and houses, and winds that blow in and blow out. Things change.




Did you ever hear that 1920’s song, “How yeh goin’ to keep ’em down on the farm, once the’ve seen Paree?”

Bring in some art? Some dancing girls? Some champagne instead of beer?  Paint the wind turbines rouge, add some blinking lights, reopen Rt.66?   img_0002

Well, maybe, fewer people are now attached to harvesting (so no one in the houses), so Autumn Festivals are sponsored on social media to retrieve those who went to “Paree”, or even Peoria. Some steal stalks or ears for decoration (they are of paltry singular value but stealing less in town could get one shot).  However the golden ears bring up primal agrarian memories.


A few visitors may show up at the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture for some color, but, than again, ” How yeh gonna get um ta pay for art, once the’ve seen for free?”

Getting corn and art for free is one thing, what about power…next Saturday.