For the most part art means pictures, and for me that art has to have meaning to me. Which means it has to be something I can relate to.
Like pictures of the Mackinac Bridge, babies, barns, creeks, flowers, animals in fields and a smiling hog.
You see, Dali doesn’t do it for me. I’ve seen graffiti I can understand. Nothing I’ve seen of Dali’s gets through.
Because of respect or because I’m supposed to,
I can take interpretations of what some artists think things looked like in Biblical, Napoleonic and prehistoric times.
But what I can really get into is down home, country stuff, like the farmer with the pitchfork with his aproned wife beside him.
You know, Norman Rockwell art. When Hazel and I visited his birthplace we bought this huge coffee table book of his paintings. Love it.
If he were alive today he’d do the kind of art I’ve accepted . . . yard art.
You’ve seen it. A single bottom plow sitting alone in a front yard, often painted red or yellow. Not far from our house is an old framed bed planted with flowers, and though there is a sign, none is needed to know it’s a flower bed.
Yard art!
North near Brutus there’s a hilltop with three old hayloaders in a row. We’ve seen cultivators, hay mowing machines, corn shellers, and other farm related machinery in yards.
Yard art does not have to be confined to farm stuff, but I like it best.
Thus I’ve adopted the most recognizable piece of farm equipment for my yard art.
A manure spreader.
Cynics and others who never went out of their way to seek my friendship have offered criticizing comments, like, ‘It certainly seems apropos that a newspaper person would have a manure spreader in his yard.?
The only thing worse than envy is jealousy.
In planning for this art I imagined painting it yellow or red, but when I saw its the au naturel rusted look I decided nature knew more about displaying this art than I.
So, there it is. If you’re ever driving past 1372 1/2 W. Drahner Road in Oxford, look and enjoy. It’s art that will bring tears, joy or disgust.