Union Avenue Books in Downtown Knoxville, Tennessee, goes one step further than asking us to support independent bookstores. In addition to offering the best array of books I have ever seen in one small place, Union Avenue suggests we support independent thinking.
That is indeed what books, the arts, and creativity in general are: independent thinking–and action.
You may have lived in Knoxville all your life or just arrived, but there are few things you need to know about this small-town city to enlarge your life, have more fun (two ways), pay less for amazing finds, eat better, and the life-improvement coup de grace (don’t you love it when I speak French in my really bad American, slightly Southern accent!): get out of town at rush hour going West, young (young-ish) captive driver, without tearing out your hair!
Enlarge Your Life
Go to an eye-popping art-house movie at Downtown West (especially if it is subtitled and takes you on your own mini vacation to another culture) and reflect on how the bathroom floor tiles are black-and-white checked just like art film houses in New York City and London! Yes, it’s true!Have More Fun #1–With Chocolate
Knoxville isn’t just for square chocolate boxes any more. Check out Knoxville’s hand-made chocolatier with goodies as yummy as the chocolate we used to bring home from Belgium. And it is made right here in Knoxville by Sharif Harb, who also couldn’t be a nicer guy!Have More Fun #2–With Guerrilla Warfare
Do it your own way in your pink tutu, dancing passionately.
Pay Less for Amazing Finds, Secret Sale Thursday, Friday, and Saturday
Marcus Hall, designer and manufacturer of cool, yet down-to-earth designer jeans–made in Bristol, trending nationally (in the New York Times and Knoxville’s Metro Pulse) and locally!
Did you know that Knoxville has its very own fabulously cool jeans designer/manufacturer named Marcus Hall? His Marc Nelson Denim line is Made in America and Tennessee (actually in Bristol) and his headquarters is in a warehouse on Randolph Street, just northeast of Knoxville’s Old City.
Marc Nelson Denim at Knoxville Fashion Week.
Did you know July 25-27, from 11:00 to 6:00, Marc Nelson Denim and my favorite Knoxville shoe store, Sole in the City, are participating in a big Boutique Blowout at The Gallery in West Knoxville beside Tomato Head West and near Chili’s? Well, items at this secret sale will be up to 75% off. Participating boutiques are: Barre3, Diana Warner, Lola B, Twig, Janice Ann’s, Val’s Boutique, Dragonfly Boutique, Kristi, Obligato, Jonesy Wood Designs, Me & Mommy to be, Elle Boutique, Euphoria, Tula, Southern Gamedays, Boyd Thomas, and Salon Visage. Check it out!
Amazing Finds–All the Time
The best Knoxville boutique, and the country’s best consignment store, right here in Knoxville.
The best consignment shop in all the U.S. and the world (according to me who has traveled many places) is Reruns in downtown Knoxville on Union Avenue.
Eat Better With Atmosphere, Jazz, and Apps (not that kind!)
The best place to eat and enjoy life in K-town. Open all afternoon too!
Local food, fresh from the owner’s garden, free jazz in the evening, the best atmosphere in town, and a nekkid-lady’s picture over the bar! What could be better than a lunch, dinner, or brunch at Bistro at the Bijou?! Nothin’.
Beat the Going-west Traffic at Rush Hour Coup de Grace
You come blazing out of the downtown or UT area, hell-bent for leather going west on I-40/75 and see a back-up on the interstate from the town to the ‘burbs and in between. You think you will have plenty of time to reflect on the utter stupidity of whoever decided it was a good idea to have two major interstates on the same highway going through the middle of Knoxville, and then let’s add the I-640 Knoxville bypass right outside town. Yeah, that’s going to work real well. If you want to spend some quality time sitting in traffic.Now you are a happpppy, well-informed, well-dressed, full belly Knoxvillian, going West in your Marc Nelson Denim, singing” Crystal Blue Persuasion”.. Don’t you have the cutest butt?! Yes, you denim do!
~ 7/24/2013
My husband and I were watching the fabulous TV show Longmire that is produced by, and appears on, the Arts & Entertainment Channel (A&E). Suffice it to say the show is about a throw-back man, a sheriff in Wyoming, who cares about doing things in a person-to-person way and making a difference in the lives of the broken people who cross his path. His world is gritty, realistic, and painful, but somehow spiritual.
Walt Longmire’s best friend, Henry Standing Bear, as played by Lou Diamond Phillips
Longmire’s best friend is a Native American named Henry who owns a bar in the show’s fictitious Absaroka County.
On last week’s show, Henry visited an ancient Native American woman who appeared to be a healer as well as a spiritual leader of her tribe.
Henry asked her a question, and, as is often the case with wise people, she answered his question with a question saying, “What did the First Warrior say to the Great Spirit?” The following was his answer.
The First Warrior looked out on the land that was his home
He saw the hills and the stars
And he was happy.
For giving him this home,
The First Warrior told the Great Spirit
That he would fight and win many battles
In his honor.
But the Great Spirit said,
“No, do not fight for me.
Fight for your tribe,
Fight for the family born to you,
Fight for the brothers you find,
Fight for them,” the Great Spirit said,
“For they are your home.”
[text from Longmire, Episode 208 “The Great Spirit”]
~ Anna 7/23/2013
~ wrote Marilyn Monroe in her recently discovered journal
While watching the HBO documentary “Love, Marilyn”, my husband Kurt and I were surprised to hear the depth of the intelligence and insight found in Marilyn Monroe’s private thoughts as she recorded in her journals and personal papers. Her screen persona did not prepare us for the searching and self-educated-by-reading young woman who wrote so movingly.
Marilyn Monroe reading a script.
As I heard her, Monroe seemed to be saying that her work was the love that never let her down and that resonated with me. After leaving my nearly 20-year job at the University of Tennessee, I have come to more fully understand the gift that work has been in my life.
I loved working for the university where I essentially grew up–since I was hired when I was only 19 years old. I worked full-time and, by virtual of that fact, received two free classes each quarter which allowed me to work toward a college education I would not otherwise have been able to afford.
Although her formal education was limited, Marilyn Monroe educated herself through reading.
Knowing for myself has been my passion in life, which I think it was for Marilyn as well. All my life I have been reading, always reading, disappearing into worlds of words and imaginings of others that lived long before me or never actually lived at all. It does not matter whether I am reading fiction or non-fiction because the people I meet in books have educated me as I have shared their real or imagined lives.
Something else I shared with Monroe was the attendant shame that comes with doing without. For her, it was the lack of a real family. For me it was being poor. raised to worry about the next time Daddy would lose his job. Watching my proud parents crying in the car after their Sunday School class had taken up a collection for our family that morning. The powerlessness of not mattering in a society where money and power over your life are synonymous.
But the knowing for myself trumped the not having. My work–and from that my education—gave me a way to clothe, feed, and care for my children as a single parent and a way to ensure they were in loving, safe hands while I worked.
Monroe in the subway when she was taking acting classes in New York.
But work gave me more than that. It was my life. It was, as Marilyn described, a kind of love that I have missed in my nearly two years of freelance work experiences.
In my final five years at UT, I was promoted by a vice president who gave me a challenge and enough power to fulfill it. I worked with a communications team of four who worked together beautifully.
During one of the many reorganizations that naturally occur in large, complex organizations, our team inherited the university alumni association’s yearbook collection. This treasure trove of memories and priceless photos was perfect for use in the publications we produced to encourage charitably minded people to invest in the university’s programs.
The 1940 UT yearbook’s dedication to “the spirit of all volunteers to come in the future.”
Called The Volunteer after our home state’s motto, the yearbooks had been published every year since 1897, except in 1918 during the first World War. Besides the year young volunteers were lost to trench madness, we found that we were missing one other volume–the exact year of which escapes me now.
Being uncomfortably short only one piece from a complete collection inspired me to invent a way to overcome our loss. Surely there was someone who had inherited a copy of the missing volume and would not mind giving it to us.
It also occurred to me that there were graduates who had misplaced their yearbooks, never bought one and now regretted it, or conversely there surely were people who found themselves in possession of a yearbook or two for which they had no attachment or use.
Loss being the mother of invention, we began placing small blurbs in our publications about our Yearbook Exchange Program. And we got all sorts of queries and many people who had as many as four yearbooks they were glad to send us.
Brum Brumfiel’s 1940 senior yearbook page.
We also heard from Oscar Marion “Brum” Brumfiel (his nickname given to him by his buddies in World War II; and yes, his name is correctly spelled without the ending “d”), a gracious 1940 UT graduate living in Minnesota who had lost his senior-class yearbook to water damage. Could we locate a 1940 yearbook for him? Joyously I could report we had an extra copy and could send it to him straight away.
Brum went on to tell me that he and his wife were amazed and elated to find that another UT alum, the incredibly successful football coach Murray Warmath, was in the nursing-home portion of the assisted-living facility where they lived.
Murray Warmath (far left) played end for the 1934 UT football team.
Warmath had been a standout football player at the University of Tennessee, graduated in 1934, and went on to be a legendary coach who led his Minnesota Gophers team to the national championship in 1960.
Coach Warmath’s wife, Mary Louise, had passed away a few years before. On the days when his faculties were clear, Murray told Brum about his dear wife and how she was a university beauty whose photo appeared with the other lovelies in the college yearbook.
This famous football coach who had won the highest accolades of his sport had no pictures of his dear wife from their time in college, and neither he nor his wife had bought the 1934 yearbook. He so longed to see her again.
Murray Warmath won the coveted Torchbearer award in 1934, the university’s highest student honor.
I checked our collection to see if we had an extra copy of the 1934 yearbook, and amazingly we did. With great anticipation, I sent the copy, via Federal Express, to the Minnesota address I had been given.
Mary Louise Clapp (center) campus beauty in 1934.
When I next heard from Brum, he described the joyous smile on the coach’s face when he saw his dear wife’s photo, so young and beautiful, just as she was when he met her and as she would always be to him. He could not understand how he came to have the book with her photo, but he was so grateful for this miraculous book that returned his wife to him. I learned recently that Murray passed away March 16, 2011, at the age of 98.
No part of my work gave me more joy than being able to make this sweet man’s dream come true: to see his wife again as she was in his memory. Work has been a privilege for me because it has given me the ability to make a difference in people’s lives.
For me, it was put so very succinctly by a woman known for style over substance: Work is a kind of love.
And so it was. And so it is.
~ Anna 7/13/2013
Ok, I swear I am not usually Becky Home Ec-y and do not usually traffic much in recipe sharing, But I have celiac disease and cannot eat gluten (wheat flour, rye, spelt, barley, and so on). Many people I know have gluten sensitivities or allergies which keep them from enjoying wheat-flour bread products. And this recipe is too good to keep to myself!
Gluten-free oat flour
I have discovered there are many gluten-free flour options that are delicious and, I would argue, more nutritious than wheat flour. My personal favorites right now are quinoa flour, (gluten-free) oat flour, and hazelnut flour.
Quinoa flour
Quinoa is high in protein and fiber so you will be doing yourself a big favor to choose it along with oat floor which is also high in fiber and helps with high cholesterol issues.
I get these nutritious flours at Earth Fare here in Knoxville, but other grocery stores such as Kroger, Publix, Whole Foods, and Food City carry some gluten-free flours as well.
My favorite canola/coconut oil blend
Here is my own recipe for scones which you can adapt to fit your taste buds. They can eaten any time because scones aren’t just for breakfast any more!
Healthy, Delicious, Easy, and Best-Ever Gluten-free Scones
Grease a large baking sheet (or line with parchment).
Whisk together flours, baking powder, xanthan gum, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg (and ginger if you are using ground ginger).
Work the coconut oil into the flour mixture by hand until only pea-sized coconut oil bits remain. Or it you are using coconut oil/canola blend or other oil add to the wet ingredients below
Whisk together the eggs, buttermilk, and vanilla until frothy. Add honey, then add fresh ginger. Add to the dry ingredients, stirring until well blended. The dough will be very sticky.
Add the fruits and nuts until blended.
By hand, mold about a hands-full of scone mixture. Place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper or pan-lining paper. This will ensure quick clean up and no sticking. Pat down on top.
Lightly brush buttermilk on top of each scone. Sprinkle cinnamon on top (optional).
Place uncovered baking sheet in the freezer for 15 minutes. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
Ta-da! Scrumptious scones
Bake for 20-23 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from the oven onto a cooling rack and allow to rest for 5 minutes before serving. Allow to fully cool (several hours) before placing in plastic container.
Makes about 10-11 scones.
Enjoy! And be sure to experiment with your own additions and have fun with this recipe!!!
On our recent adventure to Memphis to photograph an incredible wedding celebration, we had a few moments to take in the flora and fauna of Memphis. And by that I mean, the art house movie theater and the food, which is by far two of the most compelling reasons to visit a megalopolis.
The Frances Ha poster outside the Malco Ridgeway Theatre in Memphis. If you look closely you can see the reflection of the photographer.
Sooo, my husband Kurt and I had been wanting to see the intriguing-sounding and favorably reviewed new film shot in gorgeous black-and-white, Frances Ha.
The screenplay was written by Greta Gerwig (who wrote herself a wonderful role as Frances) and Noah Baumbach (who is Greta’s real-life love and director of the film). Digression: Greta and Noah met when he directed her in another movie which I haven’t seen called Greenberg.
Anyway, we were pleased to see that Memphis had an art-house theater called the Malco Ridgeway Four, and to our delight it was showing Frances Ha which is now also playing here in Knoxville as well.
One of my favorite photos of the Jada and Brian wedding that we photographed in Memphis.
The day began in a small way since we were quite spent from photographing (Kurt) and art directing and chasing wedding party members (me) 1800 or so photos in two days (rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, pre-wedding, wedding ceremony, posed after-wedding shots, and rockin’ post-wedding dance). But the day after the excitement of the wedding turned out to be a food-and-film epiphany.
The interior of the Malco Theatre
Having seen art-house films at theaters in London, San Francisco, New York City, Nashville, Atlanta, and other cities I am probably forgetting now, we thought we had seen the finest movie theaters of the species. We were, however, mistaken.
The Malco Theatre welcome mat
Alliteratively and figuratively, the Malco Ridgeway in Memphis beats all the theaters in London and San Fran hands down. Ok, we had seen real food instead of plastic butter on artery-clogging popcorn and sugared syrup water offered at the Lincoln Center art theater in New York. But we had never seen delicious looking cheese and fruit and an entire menu of other offerings.
The exceedingly well-appointed bathroom of Memphis’s Malco Theatre
Nowhere had we seen comfy leather-looking seats with plenty of room in all directions. And the bathrooms! Flowers, air freshener sticks, mood lighting, and individual napkin-sized hand towels the size of Texas! We felt like hicks who had never seen the big city when we began taking pictures of all this finery with our cellphones (even in the bathrooms). Yes, we did.
The projection system was good, the side aisles sometimes had only three seats abreast, and plenty of well-dressed, yowsa people ambled in after us to enjoy the show.
Ok, you ask, what about the movie. Well, Greta Gerwig as Frances was on the surface nothing like me. Frances is tall, yappy, disorganized, messy, socially awkward, and lies a good deal. Not only does she smoke like the proverbial chimney, she doesn’t particularly care about what she wears, makes an embarrassing series of self-destructive decisions, and doesn’t share her true feelings with the people closest to her. Not me, not me, not me, not me.
Frances on the streets of New York
But somehow the essence of Greta’s Frances came through: her creativity, love for dance, need for expression, yen for true closeness with her girl and guy friends, and her overwhelming joie de vivre in even the most ordinary situations such as walking (or running) down the street.
After the movie ended, I asked Kurt, “Who does she remind you of?” Thinking there is no way that he could get it right. But I suppose 21 years together has cemented Kurt’s ESP in my direction because he pointed his index finger at me. Yes, right answer, baby; first time!
It was weird to see myself so clearly in another person who is in many ways nothing like me at all. Sometimes the movie hit a bit too close to home, making it decidedly uncomfortable to watch. But in its entirety, it was quite sublime and joyous. See it if you can.
Kurt “reading” The Hollywood Reporter
But for us the Malco adventure was not over. It had rained while we were in the movie and, on another pass around the theater lobby, we noticed the sumptuous sofa and beside it, as Kurt pointed out, beaucoup issues of the of-the-moment, insiders-who-know-entertainment magazine ($199 a year, no less!) The Hollywood Reporter. Too much! This theater was too much!
Outside I noticed for the first time what could be the reason the theater is so beautifully designed and cared for: the Malco Theatre corporate offices are behind a door near the entrance to the theater. I can imagine the Malco executives doing movie screenings and chowing down on decent food and wine, and they only have to take a short stroll to do it.
The coup de grace of this perfect day was capped by a Provencal (food inspired by the cuisine of the South of France) meal at Memphis’s Cafe 1912. It reminded me of a beautiful little bistro we had been to in Austin. Amazing food, impeccable service, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Yum! And they could accommodate my need for gluten-free food. Heaven!
So, if you have a mind to visit your real movie theater self, you could find your alter ego behind the doors of a really ritzy and thoughtfully decorated movie theater in Memphis–or perhaps some other lovely theaters exist in LA or France, the meccas of cinema. I can’t tell you for sure because we didn’t see movies when we were in Paris because we didn’t find the time to track down a theater with English subtitles, and I have never been to Los Angeles. But I can tell you for sure you can have a divine time at the Memphis Malco.
Me in the window of Cafe 1912, as photographed by Kurt on his cellphone
I can’t really share how Frances Ha got its clever title without ruining the surprise waiting for the enterprising ones of you who want to see the movie. But suffice it to say it is a satisfying, well-worth-it reveal that gave me an a-ha moment.
With a smile, I watched the screen and knew the title-revealing scene was indeed exactly what Frances would do. She and I have many experiences where we learn, a-ha, about ourselves.
For that’s what we are really are: bundles of contradictions. I like to think that I am a rather easy-going, cheerful, inordinately curious, and resourceful person. Little things mean a lot to me; found objects can be turned into spun gold of creativity. And yet, I learn about my complicated, yet simple, self as I go through life, surprising myself constantly.
Many times I have given myself reason to remember the adage that goes, “Life is like learning to play the violin in public.” And it can be messy. And painful. But also glorious, musical, enrapturing, and transporting.
I am most sincerely Anna Mo . . . and, just as clearly, I am not.
//Anna – 6/15/2013
Wire sculpture hanging on an inside door at an Anthropologie store in suburban Memphis
Lucy Liu and Jonny Lee Miller in the present-day version of Sherlock Holmes, as imagined on CBS’s Elementary.
The other night I was watching a particularly ingenious, forgive the phrase, network television program, (yes, unlike some of my friends, I do watch television from time to time, i.e., most nights) that will remain nameless (Elementary) and I began gathering epiphanies in my mental basket.
Ok, I am not saying I am as intelligent as Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s character upon which Elementary‘s main character is based. Bbbuuuutttt, I am highly sensitive to my environment, order-loving, detail-oriented, and too intuitive for my own happiness level. When anyone is uncomfortable around me, I am uncomfortable, making large crowds especially mortifying. Information coming in from all sides.
Jonny Lee Miller as a present-day Sherlock Holmes in CBS’s Elementary.
I watch Holmes (played by the incredible Jonny Lee Miller–yes, the one who used to be married to Angelina Jolie in her pre-blood-vial, pre-Brad Pitt days) and pick up clues to my own psyche.
Constantly searching for clues to ourselves, that’s what I think we must be doing as we go through our lives. I don’t know about you, but I am complex and somewhat unfathomable sometimes even to myself. I find epiphanies to understand myself and the human condition from book and movie characters, the way my plants grow in the backyard, and the way animals attack and prey upon one another in TV documentaries.
I have noticed if my plants get rainwater instead of city water from the garden hose, they come alive with every color of green and become ALIVE. When I fertilize them with mushroom soil mix, they put out their arms in every direction and shine. And if they get the morning sunlight streaming on them in just the right way, they thrive.
So do I and so do my friends–grow that is–when we get the light, water, nourishment, and care we need. When we don’t get our basic requirements at critical junctures, we become stunted and yellowed, get a fungus on our metaphorical leaves, and die.
In our backyard right now, we have a growing family of birds, the exact species of which we are not sure. The renters, as we refer to them, moved into the birdhouse built and given to us by our nephew Zach four or so Christmases ago. Last year I suggested we put a for rent sign over the birdhouse, as no birds seemed at all interested in moving in.
Backyard “renter” who has moved his (or her) family into our birdhouse.
But one day a few weeks ago, my husband Kurt thought he saw a bird going into the birdhouse, Of course, we started watching for signs that there might be a nest, with eggs provided by a busy mother bird.
Last weekend we noticed, to our complete delight, that there were not one, but two, birds going in and out of the birdhouse. As H.I. McDonough said in the Coen brothers’ hilarious movie Raising Arizona, “Hey, we’ve got ourselves a family here.”
Me, me, over here, me!!!!!
Anyhow, something our naked eye could not catch from far enough away not to scare them, Kurt’s camera froze easily as still lives from the masters. In the resulting photos, we saw the baby birds at last, with their cavernous mouths saying me, me, forget about the others, it’s all about me!
But the wise parents fed all the hungry beaks and went back ceaselessly to gather more. When I trotted out later to bring out indoor plants to enjoy the rain, the bird babies must have mistaken my footsteps for looming parental action, and they chirped as if there were no tomorrow.
Busy parent tending to all the children.
The total self-absorption of children does not work in later life and is particularly unattractive and abhorrent in an adolescent or adult.
When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; but when I became a man I gave up childish ways.
I Corinthians 13:11
Last evening we had occasion to ponder this eternal truth as we attended my niece Abby’s high school graduation. The people (and I use the term loosely) in the row behind us–and their extended family beside us–carried out, loud riotous conversations throughout the entire commencement, through all the speeches, the giving away of outstanding teacher and student awards, and so on–as if they were all scratching their butts and watching tag-team wrestling in their living room.
The “people” sitting behind us at graduation.
I strained to hear the speakers for two hours of sheer headache-producing torture. The phrase were you raised in a barn? kept going through my mind. But actually, I think barnyard animals would be more discerning than the buffoons squealing behind us.
We thought fleetingly of calling them down on their impossible behavior, but decided they looked too dangerous to take on.
Thus, the moral of this story, and the takeaway lesson for my own knit pack, is a baby bird in our backyard rental property is a wondrous, magical thing. However, sitting in front of childish, mulling and puking (nod to Shakespeare) humans, regurgitating their bad behavior all over us–at an august public event–is not magical at all.
Patty Griffin singing “Don’t Let Me Die in Florida” on Jay Leno.
As the incredible singer/songwriter Patty Griffin wrote for her breathtaking new album “American Kid”:
Please don’t let me die in Florida/I don’t care about my name/If you catch me dying in Daytona/Throw my bed onto a train
Soooo, with apologies to Patty:
Please don’t let me die at commencement/I don’t care about the shame/If you catch me dying at graduation/Shoot the hellions in my name
Words to live by, folks. I prefer the birds.
— Anna, 5/18/13
When I was growing up, Mama used to say so-and-so was up to no good.
Illustrating that description from my childhood was an infamous family whose last name has been lost in the haze of my faulty memory. They were known to be mean, violent, and dangerous as they were in and out of trouble and jail. I don’t remember meeting any of the notorious clan, but their reputations were enough to get my Mamaw’s head to wagging with a tight lower lip.
Matthew McConaughey as Mud (r) with Ellis (Tye Sheridan) and Neckbone (Jacob Lofland).
The phrase “up to no good” came to me in reverse as I watched Matthew McConaughey’s new movie “Mud”. It came to me as I watched the movie unfold that its two young boys–just on the cusp of real adolescence–were up to good instead of evil as they tried to help the starving man (McConaughey’s character), who called himself Mud, that they met and befriended on a deserted island near their homes.
Good intentions and trying to do the right thing just because you know it’s right doesn’t always have the expected outcome. As this movie shows, following your internal compass is not easy, but can be messy and dangerous.
Henry Fonda as John Steinbeck’s Tom Joad.
Classic American movies celebrate their characters’ rugged individualism, independence, freedom,and people living by their own lights not necessarily by the laws of the land or what is considered the cultural norm. Immediately coming to mind for me is Henry Fonda giving voice to Tom Joad’s personal mission to be there with the powerless and the hungry in the movie adaptation of John Steinbeck’s classic novel, “The Grapes of Wrath”.
Or similarly, in one of my personal favorites, the 1980 best picture Oscar winner “Ordinary People” where a father and his wounded son forge a life together out of the ashes of a family built on emotional distance, artifice, and pain.
“Mud” is not a perfect movie by any stretch. The movie was nearly caught in the ditch for me when I heard the distractingly false Southern accent of the boy called Neckbone. But the rest of the accents, with many native Southern actors depicting finely delineated characters, eventually won me over.
Reese Witherspoon as Mud’s lost love Juniper.
The film is about broken people (and aren’t we all broken in some way) who reach out to the people they care about offering friendship, acceptance, and love.
Two of the main characters, Mud and Neckbone, have no parents. Mud who is on the run from a murder charge was raised by an eccentric sharpshooter played by the playwright Sam Shepard (who we haven’t seen in a movie in ages), and Neckbone lives with his uncle.
However, it is Ellis, the young boy whose eyes we view the movie, that seems abandoned through most of the story. His parents can hardly see him through the prism of their disillusionment for each other.
For me this movie does the dirty work of arriving at a place of connection, telling the story of people taking risks for people they care about who are in trouble, taking risks to care for others.
Ellis hardly knows the love of Mud’s life, Juniper (played by Nashville native Reese Witherspoon) who seems to be doing Mud wrong with every passing man who buys her a drink. Yet, when asked why he wants to help Mud and Juniper escape together, Ellis said, “Because they love each other.”
In movies, as in real life, sometimes love is not enough to save the people we love. But sometimes it is. And I’d rather pitch my tent in the backyard of love any day, rather than the apathy and oblivion of risking nothing at all.
–Anna 4/28/13
Photo/quote: Borealis Press, 2012
“It is rare to see, in a little boy, the promise of a man, but in a little girl one can almost always see the threat of a woman.”
~ Alexandre Dumas (1802-70)
Rachel Phillips – wonderfully herself
When my photographer husband Kurt and I were at Knoxville’s annual Dogwood Arts Festival Chalk Walk, he captured many artists in the middle of creating amazing images in chalk on the walkways of downtown’s Market Square.
One artist won my heart more than any other: a small girl who was just herself in every way. Rachel didn’t pose self consciously as the older artists did; she just tilted her head and was fully herself. I know she will be a marvelous woman because she is already a very special person.
Dandelion Boy – by Leann Vineyard Cooper
Nearly all the artists we photographed were girls or women. I especially love the whimsy of Leann Vineyard Cooper’s dandelion boy and chalking outside the lines. Because life is messy, it isn’t straight and it blows into the next moment without caring whether you are ready for it.
On Market Square that day, I imagined that my small-town city of a hometown is full of artists expressing themselves even if their art is beautiful for only a season or a week of a month until the rains of late spring wash the chalk away. But beauty for a season is enough. Beauty anywhere is enough.
And I love this quote that was included in one of the pieces of chalk art done by area school children. Creativity is allowing ourselves to take the risk of failure for the possibility of art and fully being ourselves.
~ Anna – 4/18/13
Philosophical musings from the Tennessee Valley
He who owns a rood of proper land in this country, and in the face of all the pomonal riches of the day, only raises crabs and chokepears, deserves to lose the respect of all sensible men. --Andrew Jackson Downing
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