A few days after Post-Tropical Cyclone Ida brought heavy rain and massive flooding to the state, we decided to check out the Chapman Falls at Devil’s Hopyard State Park in East Haddam.
The Chapman Falls were, of course, roaring. A swollen, rushing, turbulent outpouring of water. And no surprise what with Ida dropping a little over four inches of rain in the area after Henri dropping a similar amount the week before. I’ve visited the park probably twenty times in my life and never have I seen the falls looking so impressive.
There are many legends surrounding the deep, cylindrical potholes found around the falls. One attributes them to the Devil, angrily jumping up and down after he got his tail wet in the Eightmile River. Another says the Devil jumped across the Atlantic and landed at the falls. And another that a man named Dibble grew hops in a field below the falls and “Dibble’s hop yard” became, after many years of linguistic drift, Devil’s Hopyard.
More prosaically, the potholes are likely caused by the simple magic of erosion. Over thousands of years, small rocks and sand became caught up in the fall’s eddies, scouring the rocks forming the falls.
The Eightmile River is a major tributary of the Connecticut River and a significant waterway within the Eightmile River Watershed which includes more than 150 miles of healthy rivers and streams.
For our twenty-third wedding anniversary, we took a day trip to Newport and enjoyed a tour of The Elms. Nerds? Yes. Nerds. The Elms is not the grandest of Newport’s Gilded Age “summer cottages” (mansions), that would be the Vanderbilts lavish Breakers, but it is still pretty grand. It is the third largest of the Newport mansions with forty-eight rooms some of which, like the dining room, were designed around enormous pieces of art. Anyone can have a gold-encrusted piano. The Elms had an underground rail tunnel designed to bring in coal from a nearby station without anyone having to see or hear it. And, you know, the piano.
PemberleyThe Elms, modeled after the Château d’Asnières (c.1752) in Asnières-sur-Seine, France, was designed by Horace Trumbauer for Edward Julius Berwind. If you, like Edward, had stupid amounts of new money and wanted to impress, Horace Trumbauer was THE Gilded Age architect for you. He designed two other Newport “summer cottages”—Clarendon Court (Edward C. Knight mansion) and Miramar (Eleanor Elkins Widener mansion)—as well as the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Free Library of Philadelphia.
A German-born coal magnate who counted the Prince of Wales and Theodore Roosevelt as friends, I cannot begin to stress how rich and powerful Edward Julius Berwind was. In 1930, the New York Times named him “one of the 59 men who rule America.” He had a monopoly on global coal production and supplied much of the coal used by the New York Subway system (he helped found it) and the US Navy (he was retired from it). He was strongly opposed to union organizing. He may, as the docent repeatedly said, have been kind to his household staff, but I doubt his miners would have said the same.
The Elms’ lavish interior was designed by Jules Allard to emulate the opulent 18th century French style. It showcases many of the French and Venetian artworks collected by the Berwinds during their travels abroad (all those Venetians in the dining room, etc), as well as sculptures and statues original to the Château d’Asnières.
I have nothing to say about the gardens. They were fine. Marble pavilions, fountains, a sunken garden, and tea house. Everything as expected. Nothing particularly wow.
7/10; would not be surprised if my ancestors mined Berwind coal.
For our twenty-second wedding anniversary, we went day tripping in Jamestown and Newport, Rhode Island. Our first stop was the Jamestown Arts Center where my beloved was sure I would enjoy “Spacing Out: Expanding the Field of Vision” exhibition and he was so very right.
Spacing Out: Expanding the Field of Vision unites art that blurs the boundary between two- and three- dimensions. Spacing Out contextualizes the work of contemporary artists who challenge the limitations of space among historical works that also play with dimensionality. It asks the viewer to reconsider their visual and spatial perception, questioning the art’s depth and attachment to a surface. This surface, as well as edge, texture, scale, volume, place, and movement become the dialect with which the artists expand our concepts of sculpture and art in general.
I was immediately smitten with Deininger pieces and wish I had thought to film them rather than take photographs. Then the distortion of form and the play of objects would be more obvious to you. Like many of the pieces Deininger contributed to the exhibition, “Hanging Summer Tanager” can be viewed as a whole, recognizable bird from only one angle. But move to either side and the bird is revealed to be a glorious explosion of plastic tat. That it all comes together to form a charming yellow bird seems unlikely, but there it is.
The same is true for “We Killed Cock Robin,” a cloud of plastic toys surrounding an arrow that pierces the heart of the robin. The arrow, as with the rest of the found objects, is not visible when looking at the bird in its entirety. Looked at sideways, the robin appears to be exploding out from the arrow. Contained chaos.
Inspired by telescopic images of asteroid belts and microscopic views of environmental particulates, Renadette’s pieces are assembled from such disparate ingredients as styrofoam packaging, window screen, disassembled artificial flowers, and cocktail swords. As with “Tanager” and “Robin,” “Hurtling” is an artwork that needs to be seen in person to be best appreciated.