The Lardner Report

Unleash your creative superpowers!

NYC Subway: A Brief Encounter with Mr. Frost

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(Pic #1) Epiphany in the Park

Last Monday, I arrived in Manhattan in what has been called “the snowiest January since the city starting keeping records” — 36 inches to be exact — easily breaking the record of 27.4 inches in 1925.

NYC Subway: poetry in motion (AP Photo/Jim Cooper, File)

Struggling with my bulky bags on the icy subway stairs, trapped by what seemed like hundreds of layers of winter clothes, I quickly needed a serious attitude adjustment.  I managed to win a seat on the B train down to Bryant Park in midtown. Cursing the weather, the crowds, and my decision to travel to New York in January, I suddenly saw something that completely transformed the experience.  On the subway train, amidst the ads for personal injury lawyers and dermatology clinics, I saw a message in the ad space overhead: A short poem by Robert Frost, called “Dust of Snow.”

Dust of Snow

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

I read it, and cried.  Re-read it, and lost it again.  I couldn’t believe this poem had found me, and on this particular day. No born-and-raised New Yorker had ever appreciated the transit authority more than I did at that moment.   It was such a sweet, powerful  reminder that those unexpected moments – just like Frost’s snow dusting – can instantly cialis shift our thought and lift our spirits.

Emerging from the subway exit, I saw what can only be described as a silent white city. The falling snow had completely muted the normally discordant traffic noise, and turned Manhattan into a gloriously quiet, spectacular black and white cityscape.

(Pic #2) Fountain Freeze

The barren trees behind the New York Public Library formed delicate lacy patterns against the flat bluish skyscrapers, and the park’s famous fountain had frozen over. (Pics #1 & #2) I grabbed my camera and couldn’t stop shooting. The snow kept coming. It landed weightlessly on my hair and I caught flakes on the tip of my tongue, the way I used to as a little girl growing up on Long Island. The experience was every bit as miraculous all these years later. All of this — all of it — sparked by 34 perfectly chosen words from the mind by Robert Frost, and the largesse of the MTA.

Sadly, I’m told the agency has begun removing those literary ads from the train cars because of state budget cuts. Transit officials have replaced the words of Franz Kafka, Galileo, and other great thinkers with updates about the agency’s new technology, equipment, and infrastructure.  Perhaps some will find inspiration in the promise of jobs that those projects could bring. For me though, I will just remain grateful for the warming fire of those two Robert Frost verses on a winter’s day.


Urban Underpinnings

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How everyday structures become foundations for awesome abstract art.

Malibu Chic: Nature's Chemical Abstraction

I’m always impressed by those moments of discovery—when something functional becomes something artful—and smacks me in the face with its beauty. Here are a few shots capturing those moments – from recent trips to Nashville, Tennessee, Malibu, California, and Seattle, Washington.

Below, I zoomed in on a weathered copper panel from the foundation of this stunning Malibu coast home. Oxidation leads to a killer turquoise patina.

Sea Green: Close-up

On that same stretch of beach– underneath the storied multi-million dollar homes — you can see the raw structural supports  — wooden beams which look like precarious piles of Pick Up Stix poised for a fall. But in their own way, they are pure design.

Geometric Underbelly

"Our contractor was A.D.D."

Along the way, I discovered a small, older, somewhat neglected home with the most gorgeous peeling seafoam paint. It was so wind-beaten that it revealed an undercoat of textured gray wood.

"A Malibu Peel"

On Main Street, in Franklin Tennessee, right outside Nashville, I walked into a restaurant called “Red Pony” and grabbed the iphone to capture what can only be described as a couple of true surrealist compositions, revealing exposed brick and cracked cement walls. When I told the hostess I loved the look — she said — “Thank you. Most people can’t handle it.”

Then I ran across the work of a primitive American painter named Kelly Moore.  See if you see what I see (below). Her red skull makes for a sweet pairing with this new Nashville “brick art.”

Exposing brick -- creating art

NOT just another brick in the wall

Primitive painting by Kelly Moore

Up in Seattle, right on the shore of peaceful Lake Washington, the back of street sign caught my eye. It was weathered wood with a figure that reminded me of prehistoric cave paintings. I really love to encounter art in the funkiest places. Send me your discoveries. We’ll compare notes.

Signs of wildlife.

Pooling around

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Yes, art is everywhere. Even in the deep end.

(Pic #1) "Pool guy" with an eye?

I can’t help it. I was just sitting at a pool party in Woodland Hills, California this weekend, when I noticed it. There was something different about the bottom of my friend Natasha’s swimming pool. As it was explained to me—the pool repair dude wasn’t sure how to handle filling all the cracks–so he punted—and covered them all in sweeping thick intersecting lines. I shot a few iphone photos to share the moments of “cool blue art.”

(Pic #2) Stepping into abstraction

He may not have noticed—that from above–he created a sweet set of abstractions—reminiscent of blue chip painter Franz Kline (1910-1962). For kicks, I removed the color from the swimming pool “grab shot,” and juxtaposed the two. (Pic #3)

(Pic #3) Left: Franz Kline Painting, “Buttress” (1956) Right: Natasha’s “Deep end” photo (2010)

Look for it—I promise you it’s there.