Looking for design inspiration? Browse our curated collections!
October 8th, 2019 - 07:37 AM
In Southern Appalachia, sun dawns on vast fields of yellow crown beard and goldenrod, while patches of Ironweed raise their purple blooms above the throng, queens of the meadow. A child wearing a baseball cap too big for him has lost his mother in a huge box store in Indianapolis. Oceans of horseshoe crabs crowd the beach on the New Jersey shore, each female surrounded by many smaller males, as they mate and transform the scene into a shiny-pebbled mosaic. At this moment, secretly and underground, mother trees talk with their kin, shaping future forest generations. A man sits in the Oval Office of the White House, angry, outfoxed, incensed. There are more life forms in a handful of forest soil than people on the planet: they stir. An old man leaning on a cane, carries his groceries home: he tells himself a joke and tries not to laugh out loud for fear of looking foolish. Somewhere, someone is proposing marriage for all eternity to their love. In Bucharest, Romania, skinny dogs roam the dusty streets of grey high rises. In sub-Saharan Africa, children die for lack of water. One such baby, dead, the tear-stained mother refuses to relinquish. Pipe organ music, Mozart, enlarges the sanctuary of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine on Amsterdam in New York City where the pigeons fly up from stained glass windows like doves of peace. In a quiet corner of the massive room wait two matching bookend slabs of walnut made into the Peace Altar by the late George Nakashima, sculptor, father, detained by the US government in an Idaho prison camp during World War II.