Category Archives: Potpourri

Art is the latest “pop-up” trend

The phenomenon of pop-ups has taken off in North America, coming to Calgary in the form of a restaurant (Charpop), a lounge (Crowbar) and even a pop-up furniture and accessories store (Sit).

Wildlife painted on a utility box greets cars entering Inglewood on 9 Ave. S.E. from downtown Calgary.

But the pop-up’s latest incarnation delivers it to the masses in an esthetically pleasing format: public art. Pop-up art falls into the category of urban intervention, where designers and street artists are starting to look at urban landscapes as something more than just utilitarian. In some cities guerilla swings have popped up by bus stops, giving commuters something to do while they wait, for example. Pop-up art, by contrast, gives passersby something to look at and appreciate while they walk or drive in the city. It pretties up the streetscape.

I first noticed pop-up art on some older buildings in the East Village, where a sort of upscale grafiti-style street art injected colour into the otherwise bleak (especially in winter) landscape.

This stop sign sports a knitted cozy.

The trend has now migrated east into Inglewood. I’ve spotted several “stop-sign cozies” warming up the cold sliver poles — a practice known as “yarnbombing.” The neighbourhood’s grey utility boxes have also turned into three-dimensional works of art as artists paint them with city scenes and pictures of wildlife you’re likely to spot while walking along the Bow River or visiting the Inglewood Bird Sanctuary (deer, geese and even a Richardson’s ground squirrel).

The best addition to the hood — in my opinion — is a gorgeous mural covering what was once plain beige concrete supporting a train underpass that leads from the bus depot in Victoria Park under the railway tracks to 9 Avenue by Fort Calgary. Instead of a dingy underpass car passengers now marvel at a kaleidoscope of colours depicting a bird, a woman and a whole lot of flowing shapes and swirls.

This underpass is way prettier thanks to a gorgeous mural painted this past summer.

Personally, I love this trend. I think it’s a great way to beautify community spaces and bring interest to tableaux that would otherwise remain utilitarian, ugly and add nothing to the urban environment.

How about you? Have you noticed any pop-up art in your neighbourhood? Do you like it?

Our Sea-Monkeys experiment

Remember Sea-Monkeys? When I was a kid every comic book featured an ad on the back cover selling kits that promised to get you growing these prehistoric krill-like creatures from the comfort of your home. I never asked my parents to buy me sea-monkeys — like magic sand, I figured the product would only disappoint. Look at the drawings of them: as if you’ll grow a weird amphibious family that lives in a castle.

Creepy, right? But weirdly I could not resist.

So when Avery came home from school clutching a Scholastic book order form, with a picture of the Sea Creatures kit circled, I rolled my eyes. I mean, kudos to the Sea-Monkeys marketing team for successfully rebranding the critters by calling them by their scientific name, “triops,” and packaging them in a box that sells them as Sea Creatures (the monkeys moniker always seemed a bit creepy). But still, I felt it would be $12.99 of Avery’s allowance money down the drain. Would they even hatch? What was their lifespan (translation: how long would they clutter up our kitchen island)? I knew it wouldn’t end well. (But at least she wasn’t asking for a pair of x-ray glasses, a gimmick coveted by her daddy back in his comic book-reading days.)

Look closely and you will see our first triops hatchling. The castle is not included in the kit.

In the name of science we relented and, two weeks later, Avery brought home her kit. A couple days after we released eggs to water, there it was — almost invisible to the naked eye — our first baby triops. A few days on we counted four. Then, sadly, we experienced a die-off and our numbers dropped to two (we think the larger ones cannibalized the babies). The remaining sea creatures seemed to flourish in the tropical environment we created, thanks to an incubator-like lightbulb set up by the little dish. At first Avery doted on them, mixing up food and suctioning dirty water out of their bowl. She also watched them zip around the dish and even drew pictures of triops. It was love for about a day.

Avery cleans out the triops dish, a gesture in vain as they would all be dead by morning.

This triops is in a way cleaner bowl than ours.

Then guess who took over triops duty? Yes. The parents. We watched in dismay as the dish became ever-cloudier and its occupants harder to see. Triops are not cute. Their name comes from the Greek word meaning “three eyes” (which would totally have made a scarier Greek monster than a cyclops) and if you look closely you will see two black eyes plus a black spot above the eyes on a large head that sits atop a shrimp-like body. They are fascinating partly because they look so weird.

Triop, I love you.

Despite our best efforts the oldest triops died last week. Avery didn’t take it well and pretty much cried all morning after I shared the news. I Googled “triops lifespan” (on average two weeks) and realized the second triops had maybe three or four good days left. Cue sad music.

Monday night our last Sea-Monkey was swimming frenetically around the dish, living it up amongst the triops food and accumulated debris. By Tuesday morning it was floating lifeless at the bottom of the container. Avery just kind of shrugged in acceptance (now that she’s a circle-of-life veteran) and then asked, “When can we hatch the rest of the eggs?”

A true scientist is born. (And yes, those kits are well worth $12.99.)

Beware the Flu Pumpkin

Pumpkin carving at our house is an event to be put off until the last possible moment, like the night before Halloween. Carve them even a week too early in this cold weather and their tops will have caved into their heads in a gruesome sort of way by Oct. 31, perhaps a desirable look when trying to create a creepy masterpiece.

Designing jack-o-lanterns with the kids (we vetoed any designs that were too fancy: “Google’s broken”).

Usually our jack-0-lantern designs are boring and benign, generic even. But this year I recalled Extreme Pumpkins, a pumpkin carving book that I wrote a blurb about back in my Calgary Herald brief-writing days.

Beware extreme pumpkins — they sometimes cannibalize one another.

We let our daughter design her own pumpkin, which we’ll call “Happy Pumpkin” because, compared to the other two, that’s what he is:

Meet Happy, Avery’s creation.

I was trying to carve a “catumpkin,” but the ears ended up looking like horns. Then Bennett declared, “He’s mad, Mommy!” and so I dubbed him “Angry Pumpkin:”

Meet one pissed off, anguish-ridden gourd.

Blake spent many more minutes on his creation, channelling a “drunkumpkin” at times. I thought the orange globe looked sick more than intoxicated and, thanks to the discarded seeds and pumpkin innards (mixed with coffee grounds), we came up with “Flu Pumpkin:”

Not sure why he threw up on the Globe and Mail? Must’ve been the headline about the Monster (storm).

We can only hope our children will not mimic his performance after eating too much candy.

What about you? Do you carve traditional pumpkins or pull out all the stops?