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For the month of July, it’s a quartet of new experiences, all of them undertaken in the hometown for low dough. Check back every Wednesday for a new edition.
On Monday, my idea meter was running empty. But where there’s a will, there’s a way and so I asked the person literally nearest to me if they had a thought as to where I should head for an afternoon staycation trip. Marla Hare Griffin, recently seen on-screen at the Tivoli in the film A Variety of Mysteries, offered up “the metal tree” in Forest Park. That sounded good already. She then mentioned that our mutual friend, Brett Underwood, had recently talked about an amphitheatre, tucked away in the same park. Thinking for myself for a moment, I figured that I would probably run into something new in the park, if I only kept my eyes open.
And thus, a trio of destinations were dreamt up, thanks to our region’s biggest, most-visited park. These places, though, were all devoid of people. As in nobody nearby. That wasn’t completely surprising, in that they’re smaller pieces of the overall Forest Park puzzle. And the heat even kept the running and cycling population to a minimum, with only the hardest-core athletes out on the trails. Aside from the Zoo’s bustling lots, Forest Park was as quiet as you could find on a non-holiday weekday.
No epiphanies came on this trip, per se. But it was an interesting voyage into the heart of our most-popular park, with zero cost involved. And, by the end, I’d even learned a little something. Bonus!
“Three Wischs” Amphitheatre
Many times, people find their way around Forest Park through the use of landmarks, whether it’s something as massive as the Zoo, or as subtle as that weather-beaten cannon near Lindell. Underwood provided me with a very useful set of directions, noting that a small amphitheatre that he fancies was found near the intersection of Grand and Union Drives. Also, the location’s found behind the horseback statue of General Franz Sigel, a decently sized marker on the northeastern end of the park.
On Monday, the heat was palpable as I headed down a white gravel pathway towards the amphitheatre, one that features no small amount of regrown prairie grasses, a few half-dead trees, and a couple of lagoons, for good measure. Birds shot out of the thickets and there was a real sense of being removed from the larger world. The location wasn’t very far from the street at all, though the thick grasses and nearby trees held many of the traffic sounds from nearby Forest Park Parkway at bay. Interestingly, from the other direction, one could easily hear the sounds of rehearsals from the Muny’s presentation of Dreamgirls, songs wafting through the air.
The space, itself, isn’t exactly named, though the end of one, large, sitting stone says this: “For the Child In All of Us / A Place / 'Where the Sidewalk Ends' / Three Wischs / 2010.” While that may be a bit enigmatic as far as your average signage goes, it’s also apt, as the place seems open for different forms of expression. You could imagine sitting on these rocks and reading, all alone. Or coming with friends, a picnic basket, and a few blankets. Maybe a small, off-the-grid public performance would go over well, with the water and the trees and the sound of urban nature all around.
Putting this place in the back pocket until fall. Then, visits will be paid, no doubt about it. Good call, sir.
Korean War Memorial
Everybody knows the Jewel Box. Whether it’s simply because of the design, the ties to Tennessee Williams, or from attending an event. Even as the building itself dominates the sightlines of that corner of Forest Park, a couple of outliers exist on its visual perimeter. And, so, the unexpected portion of the trip popped up as the second stop, in the form of the Korean War Memorial, just a couple of stone’s throws from the back of the Jewel Box.
A large metallic sundial is the clear focal point, surrounded by a few different pieces of inscribed black granite, celebrating the lives of those who passed away during combat and who came from different parts of our region. Four granite benches ring the sundial; on Monday, they weren’t very inviting, what with the heat just simmering off of them. But, for a visitor on a cooler day, they’d provide a useful place to sit and contemplate. A couple of vertical granite markers rounded out the space, detailing facts and figures from the conflict.
One of them noted a dedication date of 2001. It’s possible that you, too, have never stopped here. Maybe you’ve never even noticed it, either. Well, I was in that group ‘til Monday. On a day when a third visit was being sought, this one just offered itself up, after previously hiding right there in the open. Interesting how slowing down and looking around tends to work things out.
The Metal Tree
This one felt a bit like cheating, at first, since I’d been past the site more than once. But I’d never really gotten within 100 feet of the Art Museum’s “metal tree,” which was positively glimmering on Monday afternoon. Arriving right at 5 p.m., I headed toward the large sculpture with a magazine article in-hand, wondering if I’d be able to sit and lean against the artwork as I read. That idea dissipated quickly, as the tree was plenty hot to the touch, despite its light coloration. And, somehow, the nearby, barren, burned-out grass wasn’t providing a particularly high amount of inspiration.
That said, it was fun to peer at the tree. I walked around it a few times, eyeballing it against that afternoon’s ridiculously photogenic, puffy-cloud sky. As I did, I looked over and noticed that much of the administrative staff of the SLAM was leaving the building, departing right with the 5 p.m. quittin’ time bell. They weren’t surprised, I’m sure, that someone would be circling the tree; it’s surely a daily occurrence. Surely these people would know a bit about the tree. For myself, though, I was largely in the dark.
After punching “metal tree” and various other phrasings into my search engine, something finally popped up, via the Museum’s own page. Said the site: “Roxy Paine's gleaming, monumental sculpture Placebo was installed on the Saint Louis Art Museum's west lawn in 2005. The 56-foot tall, stainless steel sculpture was a gift in memory of John Wooten Moore.”
Placebo. There you go. You might give somebody directions around the park using that as a marker, but we’d still recommend verbalizing “the metal tree” for casual, daily use.
