Wheel of Fortune
Wheel of Fortune The art museum is closed for renovations, but the explosion of canoes on its back lawn is still a sculptural wink to luck, to chaos theory, to hell or high water. It’s the repetition, the angles, that make it funny. Canoe Canoe Canoe. Away from them, down to the little lake past strolling teens, past solitary fishermen, past grandmothers with their tiny granddaughters, runners, bikers, other women walking alone, a small group trying to name a tree, and, looping back, past Forest Lawn’s white caps of stone, past the scrim of unnamed trees, I see the museum’s Greek Revival columns reappear, Column, Column, repeated, made funny by the canoes and by the fleet of giant flamingo paddle boats shouting their color: Pink Pink Pink. We can’t see the art or rent the boats or take wedding photos by the Greek columns right now. We can’t do anything the way we used to. But there is something in the cards today. Let’s call it luck. Let’s call it luck as many times as we can say the word. S. Robbins, September 22, 2020, from Readings
Sherry Robbins 