Popcorn in My Soul

Last night's rain hitting the skylight sounded exactly like corn popping.  Odd, the connections  you think of when something is in the forefront of your mind.  Popcorn was on my mind, because I'd just been to Metuchen, NJ, to hear artist Sandy Skoglund talk about her work, and she'd shown an image of one of her room sized installations that was a landscape entirely covered with popcorn.  Searching for it again just now, I find that amazingly, the work is actually titled, "Raining Popcorn"!

Although I've been an admirer of Skoglund's art since I first came across images of it in NYC in the late 1970's, I was unfamiliar with this piece.  I immediately connected with it in a way only a Midwesterner could.  Indeed, she said her inspiration for it was the landscape surrounding the University of Iowa where she attended graduate school.  Skoglund's "Raining Popcorn" reminded me of a Carl Sandburg story my father used to read me, THE HUCKABUCK FAMILY:  AND HOW THEY RAISED POPCORN IN NEBRASKA AND QUIT AND CAME BACK.  In this story the popcorn the Huckabucks raised catches fire and explodes, the popping fields eventually filling their barn, and then their house. Their daughter, with the delightful name of Pony Pony, discovers a silver buckle inside of a squash.  Somehow this makes the family decide to move.  At least that is the way I remember the story. 

No toxic microwave packaging for me!

When I was at Illinois State University in Normal, Illinois, the surrounding landscape consisted of cornfield after cornfield after cornfield.  Going for a summer bike ride meant riding on miles of roads lined with cornfields on both sides, taller than myself. Having lived on the East Coast for 30+ years now, that landscape seems a surreal memory.

Harold Gregor, painter and now professor emeritus at Illinois State University, was making a name for himself by painting the absurdly monotonous Illinois cornfields in a romanticized photo-realist style.  As I heard the story, apartment dwelling New Yorkers found his depictions of big expanses of sky and horizons a sort of novelty.

My first summer job was detasseling corn.  The Illinois farmers would hire high school kids to pull off the "tassles" (seed ends).  It was disgustingly hot, hard work, for extremely low pay.  I think I may have lasted two days.  The corn was scratchy and cut up our arms and hands.

My mother, a native Ohioan, infected her children with a taste for popcorn.  A schoolteacher, a minister's wife and the church pianist, Mom was exhausted by the end of the weekend.  She wisely decided that Sunday dinner ("supper" as it is known in the Midwest) would consist of soup and popcorn, thus giving her a bit of time off from meal planning.  We seasoned our popcorn with Spatz, a very special seasoning that she ordered in bulk from an Ohio health food store.  I've never liked popcorn seasoned as well any other way.  Some months before she died, in 2000, Mom actually gave each of us kids several pounds of Spatz seasoning as a present.  It was as good as gold.  I kept mine in the freezer for years, unable to bring myself to use it up.  Only recently did I get it out, sprinkle it on popcorn, and enjoy that special flavor.

Even our big, white, fluffy cat, Muff, enjoyed popcorn.  We'd throw popped kernels to her from across the room.  Superior cat that she was, she'd catch them midair with the quickness many dogs but few cats exhibit towards such sport. 

As creatures who depend on planet earth for our sustenance, humans are forever intrinsically tied to the landscape.  Though corn has been a recurring theme in the landscape of my life, I have yet to have this influence come out in my artwork.  I know, though, that popcorn resides in my soul.  Pony Pony Huckabuck is me...Ommm...