Define art

Somewhere over the past several days a quote skittered before my eyes.  Had to have been on a computer screen, come to think of it, part of an email message.  Finger poised, I'd had to stop myself from pressing DELETE.  In fact, I stopped all together for the time it took me to decide not only not to delete the page but to reread, to really read the quote.  I wrote it down.  Then came the click of death.

Today.  Going through the images I made while Tal and I traveled earlier this summer.  Images of the Hudson River.  I thought of that quote again, now several pages back in the journal.  Find it.  Find it. 

And, get this, 9th grade English at Winyah High School in Georgetown SC came to mind.  Our text book was "American Literature," a 1965 Houghton Mifflin publication, edited by Schorer, Jewett, Havighurst and Kirschner.  I know that because, moments ago, I plucked it from the shelf above my desk.  I could make such an easy grab because I loved that volume so much my mother gave me the money to buy it at the end of the school year.

Photographed at the Hudson River
Maritime Museum, Kingston NY

It was that delight-filled class period which introduced me not only to the likes of James Fennimore Cooper, Edgar Allan Poe and Washington Irving, but to the Hudson River artists of roughly the same era -- Frederic Edwin Church and Asher B Durrand perhaps the most recognizable names.  I remember being smitten with the quality of the light in their paintings and wondering if it really could be so.  I didn't see the Hudson River in person until the mid-1990s.  The light they depicted some 150 years earlier was just as I'd held it in my 9th-grade memory.

So, this week, today.  Holding in tension a quote, my memory of some 40 years ago, images from late May just passed.

Art is a personal act of courage, something one human does that creates change in another.  -- Seth Godin

Art.  I grew up in a fabulous place filled with art -- representative American sculpture.  None of those 300+ works changed me, inspired me like what I saw in my treasured textbook.*  Part of that is the fact of living with all those bronze, aluminum, stone sculptures.  Too familiar.  And, for a creatively, artistically challenged child, completely out of reach.  Those hugely idealized landscapes (also unattainable for someone like me), on the other hand, were of places I'd never been.  There's a certain amount of romance in the faraway. 

What's ultimately true, however, is that one changed me, another didn't.

That's why there's all kinds of art, I suppose.  The creators -- courageous as they are -- produce something that is part of themselves and put it out there for others to look at, to like or not, even to disparage.  I think that is the reason Godin's definition of art kept me from an hasty delete.  There's nothing about beauty in it, or it having to be aesthetically pleasing or to be generally within some set of rules.  Art, whether it pleases or not, has the capacity to change. 

Recall that scene in "Mona Lisa Smile" when Julia Roberts' character, teacher Katherine Ann Watson, introduces her students to a Jackson Pollock painting.  It's wasn't of something, so it was somehow wrong, even unacceptable.  Look closely at the scene.  The students look confused.  Their lips even curl.

Art can change the viewer, changes us.  It's no wonder controlling art and the tussle over who controls art is such a hot (and grim?) topic.

The Hudson River at the Storm King

Celebrating a return

I am sitting on the upper deck of the M/V Grande Mariner in the Oswego Harbor looking out at Lake Ontario.  My perch is one of two spaces that jut out slightly behind the pilothouse on either side of the ship.  This morning I have chosen the port side (think left; both words having four letter is how I came to remember it) since the lighthouse, a small double structure of dwelling and light, both white and roofed in red, is on this side.  It sits on a long breakwater which curves into the mouth of the Oswego River from the west.  Its right side will be illuminated soon as dawn gives way to daylight and the sun rises.  It is 5:30; we are departing at 6:00.  Our destination today is Rochester.

Since we left home last Sunday, I have been keeping the journal as usual and camera use has been high.  No surprise there.  Computer time has been another thing all together.  The choice made itself.  The rivers we have sailed – the East, the Hudson, the Mohawk and the Oswego—and the canals we have navigated – the Erie and the Oswego – have claimed my near complete attention.  The weather over these days has been variable: wet to dry, cold to hot, overcast to sunny.  With foul weather gear I have been able to be out in most of it, drinking in the landscape along the rivers and marveling at the rise and fall of the ship in the locks.  There simply hasn't been time for computers.

In both sets of locks we have been something of a spectacle, being the first cruise ship to use the New York State Canal System this season.  At almost every lock there were a few locals ready to watch us lock through.  But, no place along the system could top the greeting our ship received in Waterford where the Mohawk joins the Hudson. 

We were escorted from the Federal Lock just north of Troy to Waterford, the canal's official beginning, by a large tug boat where a cluster of state and local dignitaries, the president of Blount Small Ship Adventures, a knot of television crews and reporters and onlookers of all ages awaited us.  Waterford’s fire truck pumped a long arc of water into our path.  The return of the Grande Mariner to the canal system was an event of special note.

Last year this time Tal and I were on her first Warren RI to Chicago IL run of the season.  Because of heavy springtime flooding in the northeast the Erie Canal opened late.  We entered it on its opening day.  But the water on the Oswego Canal was still too high for the ship to use and our itinerary was adjusted rather severely.  (A tour of historic waterways by bus was an interesting turn of events.  More about that in Meanderings from 17 May to  2 June.) 

Then, on Blount’s last runs of the 2011 season two of their three ships encountered Hurricane Irene and Tropical Storm Lee while in the canal system.  The passengers required rescue, the ships ended up trapped for 70 days and the state of New York spent millions repairing the locks and canal enough to free them.  Hence, the celebratory flay waving at the advent of the 2012 cruise season.

After all that a celebration and some handshaking was in order.  I decided it was a good sign; Tal and I should sail all the way to Chicago on this try.  It was our celebration, too.

To the locks

The Erie Canal opened yesterday at noon.  Here aboard the Grande Mariner we had an early breakfast and left our mooring before 8:00AM.  We didn't, however, beat the snow birds.  The yachts and the sail boats -- with their masts lashed to their decks any way possible (see photo on left), which lined the Hudson last night, were gone when I stepped out on deck before 6:00.

The first lock, the Troy Federal Lock and Dam, is in the Hudson, within sight of the Green Island Bridge at Troy (that's the bridge in the photo above, the odd-looking art deco).  Because the Hudson is tidal to this point it is considered ocean!   This first lock, then, is owned and operated by the US Army Corps of Engineers. 

We walked across the Green Island Bridge yesterday afternoon following our visit to St Paul's Episcopal Church.  The bridge in this image is the Collar City Bridge, carrying New York State Thruway traffic.  Beyond that bridge is the dam, with the lock on the right side of the river.  In the distance is the 112th Street Bridge connecting the town of Cohoes on the west side of the river to Lansingburgh on the eastern side. 

 

Entering in the lock ...



... and, elevated 14 feet, moving into the "real" Hudson River.

   

Obsolescence happens

Troy NY.  Who knew?

If you have seen "The Age of Innocence," you have caught glimpses of this engaging town.  Troy stood in for the city of New York at the end of the 19th century in Martin Scorsese's beautiful 1993 film (which we viewed Saturday evening in the lounge).  Fortunately, Troy's signature architecture somehow dodged the urban renewal wrecking ball of the 1960s.  So, there's charm here, as well as an extraordinary place in history.

About a mile upstream from the non-navigable rapids at Troy (at which point the Hudson River actually begins), the Mohawk River flows from the west into the Hudson.  Given that geography, Troy found itself at a crossroads of transportation and commerce, a significant spot on what could be considered to be the Oregon Trail of the East, the water route of westward expansion.

I don't know the name of
this building, but note the
fire escape system -- foot
and hand rails at the
windows leading to a
ladder on the left.

After a morning visit to the Rensselaer County Historical Society and a walking tour of Troy's central historic district came the centerpiece of my day: a visit to St Paul's Episcopal Church during the afternoon. Built in 1820, it was re-designed in 1890. The designer engaged was none other than Louis Comfort Tiffany -- and not only for the windows. The altar, the pews, the columns, the font, the stencilling on the ceiling, the mosaics on the walls, the cross and candelabra, the floor, the light fixtures. The space takes one's breath away.

Everything in this image is Tiffany designed.

I am not going to list the innovations coming out of Troy which I gleaned through two lectures, but it's safe to say that Troy played an important part in this country's transition form rural to urban, agricultural to industrial, wood to steel.  The concentration of innovation here as well an in improvement mindset in the years leading to the Civil War and beyond displaced what people though of as normal in all areas of life -- technology, transportation, education, finance, military tactics.

So, what happened to Troy?  Many factors play a part in our not knowing about that spot at the intersection of the Hudson and the Mohawk.  Like, time.  Like, newer innovation.  Like, the US military making the move from horse to Jeep.  Like, working one's self out of a job.

But, all is not lost.  Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute is thriving.  And, people all over the world like visiting towns with beautiful and hospitable waterfronts.

I'd come back.

Changing one's vantage point

While I have not spent any significant time in the Hudson River Valley during my life, there is a stretch along the river Tal and I visited on occasion when we lived NW of Philadelphia. We toured Lyndhurst (at Tarrytown) and West Point, hiked Storm King and admired the bridges, learned to watch for passenger trains in the east side of the river and freight trains on the west side.

Today I saw familiar places from a different – literally – point of view. I spent hours on the ship’s open top deck, unable to get beyond the surprise and pleasure of looking inland at the passing landscape from the water as opposed to looking at the water and the passing watercraft from the shore.  Nonchalant I'm not.

 

The Rip Van Winkle Bridge
at Catskill NY

Through the day Sam has pointed out landmarks, talked about the battles fought over the years to control the Hudson – battles among countries during the colonial period and battles among families during the nation’s youth – and returned again and again to our waterway theme. I have continued photographing bridges, pleased at the fact that I could gaze at them in a leisurely and admiring way. So much better than the quick and limited looking I’m able to do while driving and minding traffic.

Life aboard ship is setting in to a wonderful routine.  The meals have been and are exceptional, delicious, interesting with homemade everything, including all the baked goods -- cakes, pies, muffins, breads, dinner rolls.  There's the not so routine as well, such as this morning's fire drill.

Two things are going on here.  The rolls are being formed in the foreground and the individual sponge cakes for strawberry shortcake have just gone in the oven.

The crew has clear duties
during a drill.  These guys
tested hoses, shooting
geysers of water off the
back of the boat.

Here we are in the assembly spot -- the dining room -- with everyone present and accounted for.



Before ...

Our location for tonight and tomorrow night is Troy, the birthplace of both Uncle Sam and the American industrial revolution. While we are here the crew will prepare the vessel for travel on the Eric Canal, clearing the top deck of everything, including the pilot house.



... and after.  That's the frame used to lower the pilot house onto the deck just behind the bow still standing in place.

A turn in mid-stream

After a third exceptional supper we docked last evening on Rondout Creek for a one day, two night stay to visit the Kingston area. Our historian, Sam Ladley, has been talking since the tour began about the North American westward migration and the development of crucial water routes to the west.

The earliest settlements were established at portages, Kingston being one such town – the second oldest in New York state, only Albany being older. The village of Rondout and the city of Kingston are nearly a mile apart, the distance involving an elevation change of about 400 feet, Kingston on an easy-to-defend promontory. Once one town, Kingston has grown into a modern city, since eventually the road went there. Rondout has remained much like it was a century ago, a quaint, run-down, charming district.

Rondout Creek
Our boat will end up between the large
vessel to the left of the bridge support
and the small white boat to the right
of that support.

Now, a word about our actual arrival. We were in the dining room when out vessel made a turn to port into Rondout Creek, there the person at the helm fashioned a U-turn before reaching the bridge, the array on our stern too tall to pass under. The 185-foot Grande Mariner turning in a creek not much more than 200-feet wide proved to be a tense move, one made with many people aboard and ashore watching. Reminded me of my refusal to learn to back Tal’s fishing boat and trailer with an audience at a launch site one afternoon! The current (the Hudson to the dam at Troy is tidal) was strong making the stern obstinate to come about, but the maneuver was a success.

I have to say I do feel oddly privileged, even conspicuous when the Grande Mariner draws a crowd. We are so lucky to be doing this. How often I’ve seen people doing things I’ve dreamt of, watched and wondered what it must be like. Now I know …

We spent this morning in Kingston. 
The Old Dutch Church has been part
of the town's fabric for 350 years, its
churchyard a roll call of the influential.
Some of the very old markers have had
added to them a protective edge
to slow the deterioration of the stone.

During the afternoon we were bused to the
Delaware & Hudson Canal Museum in High Falls.
This is a detail of one of the five locks built
in 1847 showing the tight, skilled masonry work. 

A day of bridges

On Wednesday we departed the Blount dock in Warren well in advance of the publicized sailing time of 2:00PM.  All the passengers were aboard and enjoying a first meal and the tide was going out.  If the captain had waited until 2:00, we would have likely ended up enjoying dinner in Warren.

Last night the tables were turned; our departure from Newport was delayed by an hour and a half.  Given the unsettled weather the captain advised us to take advantage of the motion sickness remedies being offered and explained that we would not leave Newport until 9:30.  We were going to be in the Atlantic Ocean for about 90 minutes as we left the mouth of Narragansett Bay and made the turn west to enter the protection of the Long Island Sound.  His hope was that everyone would be in their cabins and ready for bed before the "rockin' n' rollin'" began.  Oh, what a ride.  And, then what a marvelous sleep as we sailed through the night.

We awoke, not surprisingly, to dense fog.  As we approached the East River after breakfast, the fog experience was made more intense by the regular sounding of our fog horn and several of the crew at the bow on both levels straining for sight of channel markers and other boats and obstructions.  The moment the Throgg's Neck Bridge miraged into view was ... well, beyond description.  (See my photographic effort for this date at my Flickr page.)

From there we sailed the East River to the southern tip of Manhattan and paused for a leisurely time bobbing about at the feet of Miss Liberty.  As we admired her and relished the moment, some thoughtful soul on the crew played Kate Smith's rendition of "God Bless America" over the PA.  Then, we made our way into the Hudson (not actually a river until beyond Albany, as it's tidal for 150 miles inland, making it an estuary of the Atlantic Ocean that far).

In total, we sailed under 14 bridges today (and, from Miss Liberty I could see the Varazanno-Narrows in the distance through the mist).  Need I say I photographed every one?  Probably not.  I shall refrain from "sharing" either images or bridge names in the proper order.  But, my parting shot is below -- looking back through the sea smoke at the fading George Washington Bridge from some distance up the Hudson.  Sigh ...