National Velvet

Check out this enigmatic piece of art in Denver's Lodo district, near the 16th street pedestrian bridge. It's called National Velvet, and as you can see, it's basically a sculpture of a giant pile of sausages! Or perhaps it's... penises. I'm not sure exactly what it's supposed to mean. Possibly only the artist, John McEnroe, can adequately explain it. (Don't confuse him with the bratty Wimbledon champion -- it's not the same guy at all.) If I am to believe my eyes, looking at THIS picture on Mr. McEnroe's website, the sculpture glows in the dark! Glowing or not, it's eye catching and imaginative public art.

A more detailed view of it from the other side.

And on a more personal note: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to my sweetie, the love of my life, my wonderful man Pat. I love you honey. I'm a lucky, lucky girl. You're the cream in my coffee.

Chat, set, spike

We've had the usual crazy March weather. Up and down, rain, snow, sun, fog. It changes from day to day, or even hour to hour. Thursday was gorgeous. Friday was miserable -- it snowed and rained all day. Saturday was gorgeous again. I spent the day with my friend Jennifer, hanging out in the Lodo district of Denver. We decided it'd be a good day to stroll around and take pictures, specifically on film. Yes, film! I put a roll of black and white through one of my cameras, but since it isn't developed yet, I'll show you these pictures instead. These women were playing volleyball in Riverfront Park, and as they batted the ball back and forth, they engaged in some spirited girl talk. I could just barely hear them chatting about work, relationships, and shoes, all the while getting their heart rates up and burning some calories. Great multitasking!

The Arveson Shrine today

I've written about the Rose Arveson Shrine here before, and later updated that post to include the grim news of its residents' sad fates. Last weekend Pat and I thought we'd check out the now abandoned property to see if anything has changed. It looked more forlorn and eerie than ever.

In short, this was the site of alleged miracles witnessed by and/or directly caused by Rose Arveson, who died in 1963. Principally, the roses that were laid upon her casket miraculously came back to life and bloomed 10 days after the funeral; a petal from one of the roses purportedly cured a family friend of severe arthritis. Upon witnessing these phenomena, Rose's daughters, Pauline and Dorothy, built a shrine to their mother and distributed "miracle" rosebuds to anyone who asked. For a long time people came from all over the world to visit the shrine and receive roses, but for the past many years it's fallen into a state of almost complete decrepitude. (For a more in depth and well-researched history of Rose Arveson, please read Bill Vogrin's excellent February 2010 piece on her HERE; at the time it was published, Dorothy Arveson was still alive.)

Sadly, the sisters seemed to have met a bleak, lonely end. The house ended up occupied by an apparent hoarder, William Schwartz, who kept the surviving sister, Dorothy, hidden inside the filthy abode with a multitude of neglected animals. She passed away in 2011 at age 81, following her sister Pauline, who died in 2008, aged 82. Last January, the authorities removed Mr. Schwartz from the home and rescued the surviving animals, who were by all accounts in terrible condition; he was soon met with 11 charges of animal cruelty. Bill Vogrin wrote an excellent follow-up piece when that incident made the news -- you can read it HERE.

I do not know what will become of the property, or who owns it now. The now condemned house is still standing and the various shrines on the property continue to succumb to nature's wear and tear. While Pat and I were there, a handful of deer browsed through the bare foliage, looking for something to eat. An empty gin bottle lay on the ground, a sight that Rose and her daughters surely would have disapproved of! There is a strongly ominous, oppressive vibe to the place, and an acute sense of sorrow. Bad juju, if you will. No, it's not a happy place at all.

Water

Yesterday I found myself in Manitou Springs on business. While driving, I accidentally missed my turn and ended up on "the strip", where most of the shops, bars and restaurants are located. Since I was already so far off course, I decided to go up the road a little farther, to the spot where you can pull over your car and appreciate Fountain Creek. This charming, unassuming little creek turned into a monster and twice laid waste to Manitou last summer. (You may remember my blog posts about it, but if not, click HERE and HERE to see a couple of them.)

Yesterday's water flow was a little heavy but certainly not the fearsome wall of destruction we experienced last year. It made the most benign, lovely sound as it rushed over the rocks. I used a very slow shutter speed (1/2 of a second) to capture the photo above, in order to blur the water completely. Below is a GIF showing three different shutter speeds (it may take a moment to load, so be patient). Which version do you like best?

Water

The water understands
Civilization well;
It wets my foot, but prettily,
It chills my life, but wittily,
It is not disconcerted,
It is not broken-hearted:
Well used, it decketh joy,
Adorneth, doubleth joy:
Ill used, it will destroy,
In perfect time and measure
With a face of golden pleasure
Elegantly destroy.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Self-portrait

A self-portrait taken on Tejon Street in front of a beloved Colorado Springs institution, Michelle's Chocolatiers and Ice Cream. Unfortunately, after over five decades in business, Michelle's closed its doors in 2007 for non-payment of taxes. Anyone who's lived here for more than a few years has happy memories of the place, and there was a citywide pang of sadness when the news broke of its closing. The space has sat vacant ever since, its lonely storefront festooned with an incongruously cheerful ad extolling the virtues of Downtown Colorado Springs; its sidewalk is painted with a cute "teach yourself to dance" graphic.

Lately there's been a bit of hopeful buzz that Michelle's may reopen. Sigh. One can dream.