As part of my daughter's exploration of potential universities for September, I accompanied her to an open house at a local school this morning.
After the preliminary welcome remarks and lukewarm coffee, parents and potential students were separated. Students were whisked off to learn about academics and the university pub, while parents were given muffins and escorted around the library and the campus art gallery. And that is where my story begins.
One of the gallery's current exhibitions is the work of Canadian artist Diane Landry. In the words of the gallery's introduction: "Landry’s installations, sculptures and performances often contain an assortment of recycled and mass-produced objects drawn from our everyday world. Employing subtle combinations of sound, movement, light and shadow to transform these ordinary things into unpredictable, seemingly organic entities. . . "
A portion of her exhibit involved umbrellas.
Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the accompanying sounds and movement. Maybe it's just me. But this was one of the creepiest exhibits I've ever seen. And it gave me an idea.
Twisted, broken, and otherwise re-imagined umbrellas might fit in nicely with a theme I'm considering for this Halloween. Quite nicely indeed. And living on a hill beside an ocean that delivers abundant wind and rain means that I'm no stranger to broken umbrellas. I just need to start saving them instead of throwing them away in disgust.
So what began as a morning of bitterness resulting from cold coffee and a lack of acceptable pastry ended in an afternoon of new ideas. And the free lunch was good too.