Tucked away in Greensburg, Pennsylvania is an art museum that exists because a woman nearing the end of her life decided her city needed one.
The Westmoreland Museum of American Art opened in 1959 thanks to a gift from Mary Marchand Woods that established the Woods Marchand Foundation ten years before.
We spent a wonderful Saturday afternoon there admiring artwork but also contemplating the thought and ingenuity that went into using space to tell a story.
They have a permanent collection as well as space that rotates. There is a Chihuly installation in a random stairwell and a permanent collection them at celebrated the industrial and working class origins of Pittsburgh.
Some favorites include this piece of gorgeous stained glass from Tiffany Glass around 1905.
Pieces that celebrate the blue color workers who built Pittsburgh are incredibly moving.
Artwork on baseballs was a fun surprise that I liked. I don’t care about baseball at all but thought these pieces of art created by minor league umpire George Sosnak were pretty great.
That’s the thing about museums. if you go with an open mind, you never know what amazing new favorite thing you will find.
Next up I’ll tell you about a special exhibit that, unfortunately, has ended but that I think you might enjoy hearing about!
I’m home after a few days of adventures with my Pittsburgh pal. She gives me the insider tour of her city and, this time, we also took a day trip over to historic Bedford, Pennsylvania.
This was my first real adventure of the year and it didn’t come a moment too soon. I was feeling restless, deprived, and yearning for something more interesting than my own four walls. I have a good life but it’s better when I step away occasionally to see what else the world has to offer.
We did a book crawl, ate at a historic tavern, and looked at art and historic buildings. We shopped, contemplated the sacrifices made by our veterans, and browsed a middle eastern food market near her home.
It is never lost on me how different her life is from mine because of where we live.
There are about three dozen independent bookstores in the Pittsburgh area. There are radio stations that play more than top forty country and pop music. I listened to some jazz radio while in the area and was sad to lose the station as I traveled away from the city. There are markets and restaurants that cater to ethnic cuisines and her very nice neighborhood of tree lined streets is filled with people who have come from afar. There are more jobs, more money, more educational opportunities, more museums, more of everything really.
The contrast between urban and rural is surprising sometimes.
Yet, where I live is beautiful. We have a shared sense of community that comes from everyone attending the same high school, shopping at the same grocery store, and being so small we tend to know each other.
Where I live in the country, there are no sidewalks or streetlights. There’s also no traffic unless you count school buses, farm equipment, and the occasional road construction.
I can hear a variety of birds and frogs in my yard and my closest neighbors are far enough away I don’t really hear them.
Quality of life is awfully good in many ways here but it’s also nice to leave and to have different experiences.
At one point, I stood before a mirror in the ladies room at Bedford Candy. My hair was a mess and I had the wild eyed look of someone who was so busy running around and looking at stuff that time didn’t matter.
It’s true, I spent almost the entire trip without any idea what day it was or what time it was. I was in my element and didn’t give a gosh darn what the clock said.
I have missed that version of myself. Planning and schedules have nearly crowded her out.
Yet, all good things must end. I’m home safe. The people in my life are thrilled to have me back. My little house panther couldn’t be happier. I keep catching him staring at me like he just wants to make sure I’m really here.
I am really here, a country mouse tucked away in my country house with a few stories to share and a mess to clean up. Not only do I need to unpack, there are groceries and fun purchases that still need to be put away today.
For now though, I can take my time, enjoy my little cat’s company, and savor the memories of experiences that helped me remember who I am.
This is just a three day workweek for me since I had a long weekend out gallivanting. No offense to my job or other aspects of my regular life because I’m grateful for all of it…. but … TGIF.
It’s so easy to get sucked back into everyone else’s troubles, bad work habits, and all the daily annoyances that tug at our brains and demand attention.
For this week, though, I have been working to mentally pull myself away from all of that at least for a moment or two at a time. When my brain starts to latch on to something negative, I take myself back to one particular moment on Saturday night.
After a glorious day of exploring the shores of a fairytale land called Presque Isle State Park, some light book shopping, and sipping milkshakes, we headed back to the beach to witness the sunset.
We left our shoes in the car but took towels and jackets. We took books in place of troubles. We took cold drinks instead of worries.
We staked out a spot on a small peninsula where the waves might trick you into believing you’re at the ocean and not at the Lake Erie shore in Pennsylvania. We dug our toes into the sand and I used my bag as a pillow while reclining to read.
As the sun began to descend, lower and lower against the horizon, the pleasantly warm day began to feel pleasantly cool. I stood to put on a light jacket. That’s when I noticed a large gathering of gulls on the rocks. All faced the western horizon as though they too were excited to see the cotton candy sky, colors so special that they can only be created by the setting sun.
And then, without warning, all those gulls simultaneously took off and left us alone to focus on the sky.
There was a slight breeze and the sand was turning cooler beneath my feet. I shuddered when a young woman waded out into the lake for one last dip in the golden hour.
I wondered aloud about the water temperature but she was happy doing her thing and I was happy doing mine.
And this, my friends, is where I am disappearing to in my brain when too much of the real world tries to crowd in this week.
We all need a happy memory, something with lots of sensory details that we can grab hold of and escape to when the world gets to be too much. I’m grateful for mine and encourage you to dig through your memories for one of your own. If you don’t have one, better go out and make some!
When I arrived at my Pittsburgh friend’s cute Mt Lebanon neighborhood last week, I was a little bedraggled and lugging a duffle bag so large you could stuff at least one grown adult inside.
I was supposed to prepare for just a few days but was ready for at least two weeks. Lacking the discipline to figure out what to pack, it seems I just took everything.
I called it the manifestation of all that was happening inside my brain as her husband lugged it inside.
And so began our annual Labor Day tradition.
Sometimes we go places. Last year we took the train from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia and hit all the historic sites. Sometimes we stick around Pittsburgh and she gives me the insider’s experience all over her city.
This year we did both – running away for a bit to soak in the beauty of Presque Isle State Park at Lake Erie.
It was somewhere in the middle of that park that I began to breathe better and to remember who I am. Was it when Nichola told me to turn around just in time to see a bald eagle glide across the trees? Was it when we rounded the bend of an overgrown path to unexpectedly find ourselves on shore line? Was it on a striped blanket on a chilly August Saturday as we waited for the sun to set?
I suppose it was in all of these places that I felt true joy and a connection to nature. Verizon doesn’t work great at the island so my phone barely made a peep, making it possible to enjoy life without distraction.
It has been a while since I have been able to hike consistently and comfortably. It has been a long, hard summer with the heat, humidity and a meniscus tear slowing me down.
To stand beneath a blue sky and simply breathe cooler air was such a gift. Sand between my toes as the water lapped at my ankles felt like therapy. To hear the chirp of an osprey as it soared overhead felt like a reward for good behavior. A pocketful of tiny shells and pebbles felt like presents from nature to help me recall the windswept day on the beach when I found myself again.
I’m not sure how many times I have to wear myself out and lose track of my own identity only to rediscover it while adventuring but I’m grateful every time I make my way back to me again.
Last year I finally made it to Pittsburgh’s famed Randyland but avoided writing about it because I honestly didn’t know what to say.
The truth is I loved Randyland but didn’t completely understand it even when I was standing there. All these months later and I can’t say my understanding is any clearer.
It’s color and light, trash to treasure, and a sense that all are welcome. It’s the eclectic and commonplace colliding to create memorable outdoor art.
It’s free to walk through but there’s a price to pay – the cost is that you’ll see and read things that are hard to forget and may cause you to think.
I feel like I’m not explaining this very well.
Some call it an outdoor art museum. Some say it’s one of the most important art exhibits in the country. Personally, I think the place defies description.
Essentially, Randyland is an outdoor space on Pittsburgh’s northside that’s filled with murals and repurposed stuff made into art with lots of words and quotes from Randy himself.
Who is Randy?
We met him briefly and he is lovely. His name is Randy Gilson and he seems to have created this place to foster a community where he belongs. On a sign he wrote
Hello, I’m Randy Gilson. Have you ever been bullied? I’m different. I’m retarded. I’m a broken tape measure. My life understands ME. I will never be like you. I’m happy. Please be happy. Everyone is unique, a gift.
From what I gather, Randy has been homeless in the past. He has been a community advocate and has worked to bring people together through art, gardening and being kind to others. He reminds us all that we are ok. No matter what others tell us, we are ok, just as we are.
No matter where you stand in this museum, there is something fascinating to see. And no matter how long you look, it’s impossible to take it all in.
I know plenty of people who would just call it a pile of junk but that would be a mistake. There is beauty to be found in the wall of empty but still vibrant paint cans. There’s intrigue to be found in the way old crystal chandeliers sparkle in the sunshine. There’s wisdom to be found in the words and in the way random objects are united in unexpected ways.
Not everything is meant to be defined or even described. Randy calls himself a broken ruler and says he will never fit in, will never be like everyone else.
I actually find that admission and that acceptance a breath of fresh air given how many of us work to fit in where we find no acceptance where will never belong.
If you’re ever in Pittsburgh, the address is 1501 Arch Street. Go see it for yourself. Meanwhile, check out Make The Journey Fun on Facebook. I’ll post more pictures there because there were too many to share here.
