WINDING DOWN WINTER: A Steller Story from Hamilton, NJ

The remarkable GROUNDS FOR SCULPTURE is like no place I’ve ever been.  Part museum, part botanical gardens, this indoor/outdoor art gallery contains the realistic and abstract, the sublime and ridiculous.  As remarkable as the space looked during my visit, I left thinking that I could probably enjoy entirely different experiences of it in the spring, summer, or fall ; in the early morning or by the light of the scattered lampposts and landscape lights.  So large and diverse is the installation, that every trip there seems as though it would offer something unique.

On the afternoon I spent at this world class exhibition — tucked into a quiet, central New Jersey town between Trenton and Princeton — the plants on the snow covered landscape were still shivering, but doing so with their leaves turned optimistically toward the sun.  The scenes produced by the intersection of the natural and man-made artwork on that Eve of Spring inspired my latest STELLER STORY, readable by clicking on the photo below.

Click the photo above to view scenes from the Grounds for Sculpture.



As they headed home from Nana’s house
late one clear, dark night,
Fred said to his Mom and Dad,
“See the moon there,
big and bright?

Could I pretty please this once
take it home with me?”
“Why, Fred,” his mother said,
“that idea sure is…….

“And maybe you could,” she said,
“But how will you reach and get the moon?”
“How I get the kickball from the garage top shelf,”
Fred said,
“by knocking it down with the broom.”

“That sounds good,” said Fred’s Dad,
“but how’ll you catch it when it falls?”
“Easy,” said Fred,
“in Baby Jane’s old crib
where we keep all her dolls.”

“And just where would you keep the Moon,” Dad asked,
“once we got it to our place?”
“No problem,” Fred said,
“I’ll clear out my big wagon,
the red one, to make some space.

Then I can drive the moon around,
and show him our whole street.
The way he’s movin’ above the trees,
makes me think
he thinks seein’ stuff is neat.”

“Well that’s just it,” Fred’s Dad said
as their house came into sight.
“Here we are, back from Nana’s,
and the moon’s still with us,
big and bright.

That makes me think the moon loves traveling
just like you have guessed.”
“So, maybe,” Fred’s Mom said,
“leaving him to roam the sky
would be best.

And the next night that we’re out like this
and see the moon again,
I’ll bet he’ll hang out with us some more,
to prove, once more,
we’re friends.”

Fred gazed up at the sky and thought
about what his Mom and Dad had said.
“Yes, maybe you’re right,” he told them,
“I’m tired.
And the moon doesn’t quite look ready for bed.”



Due to the boundaries of conventional photography, it’s necessary to see the Grand Canyon in person if you want to have any real sense of it.  Even then, the limitations of the human eyeball and depth perception make it challenging to compute what exactly it is that’s before you.  The scale. The structure.  The origin story.  They combine to form something like nothing else, and so by definition, laying eyes on it is a moment for which you cannot be prepared.  Even as you’re looking at the Canyon, it’s hard to know where to direct your eyes first, next, or last.  The result can be a sort of dizzying rush of astonishment and adrenaline.

As man made things go, the $1 Million Staircase — located in the New York State Capitol Building in Albany, NY — sent my head into similar spaces.  Capturing a photograph that could successfully illustrate both the massiveness and nuance of the Stairs seemed impossible.  In an effort to instead take a series of mental snapshots, every neck contortion and eye swivel I could muster felt insufficient.  There was simply too much to the space, also referred to in Capitol parlance as The Great Western Staircase, to feel like I’d seen or digested it all.  To try and add it up as I walked it was to be transported into a real-life composite of MC Escher artwork, someplace at once concrete and impossible.

The Staircase is a singular sight with a remarkable story ; for someone interested in art, architecture, or history, it’s an absolute must-see.  And believe it or not, the tour is free ; not a bad deal for a look at something priceless that may just leave you speechless.

For a sneak peek and more on how the $1 Million Staircase came to be, read my Steller Story on it by clicking the photo below.

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To see The $1 Million Staircase inside the historic New York State Capitol Building via @StellerStories, click on the image above.



Fireworks and chocolate ice cream don’t look alike, don’t sound alike.  My best guess is they don’t taste the same.  But for the way they both possess the ability to delight even on those rare occasions that they’re underwhelming, these smile-inspiring fraternal twins of summer simply must be made of some of the same stuff.

Among all the stunning pyrotechnic displays made in the American skies each 4th of July, there is none better than the show over the waters of the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD. Give it a look some time, especially if you can do so from a boat anchored in the Chesapeake.  For the full effect, pack your own Stars and Stripes to help set a mood like the one pictured below.

OL' GLORY and the OLD LINE STATE - Fourth of July fireworks over Chesapeake Bay, as seen from the middle of Chesapeake Bay. (Photo: PaC)

OL’ GLORY in the OL’ LINE STATE – Fourth of July fireworks over Chesapeake Bay, as seen from the middle of Chesapeake Bay. (Photo: PaC)

America’s Birthday, 2014 is now in the rear view, but here’s the best flag-centric reading this weekend had to offer:  a story from The Atlantic on The O.S.S.B, aka, The Original Star Spangled Banner, and via FastCompanyDesign, an illustrated biography of the American flag.


I know my Dad just loves
to put my toys away
because I see him do it
at the end of every day.

I can’t think why he’d do it
If he wasn’t having fun
Bending down and picking up
every ball block car doll clay clock truck bike book bell and drum
under the sun.

Yes, I’m sure there’s nothing better
For dear old dad each night
Than to find and file and shelve
Every last plaything left in sight.

DOGPILE OF FUN - One peak in the mountain chain of Dad's nightly handiwork, that lucky dog. (Photo: PaC)

DOGPILE OF FUN – One peak in the mountain chain of Dad’s nightly handiwork, that lucky dog. (Photo: PaC)


Wherever I go
However I feel
My head spins like a wheel
‘Cause I got a heel.

Take my well rested feet
They both got a heel,
Or my new socks and shoes
That all got a heel.

My dog on each scampering paw’s
Got a heel
My friend’s horse’s happy hooves
All got a heel.

Lady Liberty’s big toe
Isn’t concealed,
But behind it in green,
She’s got a heel.

Mom’s heel has a spike
Dad’s spike’s got a heel,
And while I can’t walk on’em,
Both my hands got a heel.

Far from Africa’s horn
And Wrigley Field,
Jolly Louisiana’n’Italy
Both got a heel.

My golf clubs and ball gloves
All got a heel,
My brother’s ice skates
Got a heel made-a-steel.

So again I will say it,
This time with more zeal,
No matter how good I feel
I got a heel.





Four days after this practice swing, Bubba Watson would don his first green jacket before uttering, with beautiful humility, “I never got this far in my dreams.”

Just after 8am on the morning of Wednesday, April 4, 2012, I stood on the edge of the 14th tee box at Augusta National Golf Course, a trigger happy shutterbug.  Getting in position early had afforded me a clear view of the hopeful pros making their way through the final practice round before the start of that week’s Masters.  Ignorance of the etiquette for where and when I could snap photos gave me the nerve to capture several action sequences of guys teeing off.  So I shot first and asked questions later, questions like, “Who was that guy with the pink driver?”

I now know that the 14th at Augusta is called “Chinese Fir”, and that the Man in White that morning was named Bubba Watson.  He’d go on to win his first green jacket four days after I watched him practice ; his second two years and nine days later.  Yes, I got shots of Tiger on the tee that morning, and I like them, too.  But none more than these images of Bubba just before takeoff, lightning as accidentally bottled as it’s ever been.


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(All Photos: PaC)


In the Great Big Bucket of Tips for Better Writing, perhaps no advice occupies more space than that stuffed under the heading of “Brevity.”  Take your pick: Shakespeare, Pascal, Emerson, Twain, Strunk & White.  They’ve all rung in on the value of staying succinct.

The most memorable thoughts on this topic I ever received with my own ears came from award winning sports and film writer Ray Didinger.  Quoting one of his former editors in the newspaper business, Ray advised, “Keep it light, keep it tight, keep it bright, and get it right.”  Simple, concise, and comprehensive, the suggestion has remained with me — even when my work has not reflected it.

Though 140-character limits and the spread of text-ese continue to truncate our communication, when they surface, new good words on the topic of keeping it brief will always be worth a look. Here’s some from Danny Heitman in this week’s New York Times Opinionator.  Enjoy.


Mark Twain - shown here in Bermuda Bronze - is one of several authors credited with saying in some way, "I'm sorry for sending such a long letter, but I didn't have time to write a short one."  Click above on Ol' Samuel L. Statue for a history of that famous Short Thought. (Photo: PaC)

Mark Twain – shown here in Bermuda Bronze – is one of several authors credited with saying, “If I’d had more time I would have written a shorter letter.”  Click above on Ol’ Samuel L. Statue for a history of the line, including the position that Twain did not in fact author that famous Short Thought. (Photo: PaC)



No business card order
made Jim’s Print Shop squirm
like the monthly one from
the Dublin law firm

of “O’Billy, O’Biley, O’Riley, O’Connell,
MacDougal, MacTavish, MacCabbage, MacDonald,
Kilkenny, Kilpatrick, Fitzpatrick, Kilboyle,
McLanahan, Shanahan, Flanagan, Doyle.”

So many Dubliners would make almost any Jim's head spin.

So many Dubliners would make almost any Jim’s head spin. (Photo: PaC)


In our yard
a bird of pray
landed so discreetly.

I watched him stretch
his praying wings
then fold them up so neatly.

Of all the birds I ever seen
I never seen one looked so mean
or one who asked me from his perch,

“It seems I’m lost. Which way’s the church?”

Click above on the feasting flyer to flip to a story of a suburban bird love triangle.

Click above on the feasting flyer to flip to a story of a suburban bird love triangle. (Photo: PaC)