The Mississippi rides high. Here’s the plaza in front of the great Arch:
Before they built the Arch, a statue of the patron saint represented the town, like in this old postcard:
Here’s a closeup:
The patron must be watching over the city. If he weren’t, I’m sure it would be even more ramshackle than it is.
(The locals here seem to find it impossible to believe that someone would visit their city, on purpose, during a vacation, without having to.)
…In the art museum they have a St. Francis memento mori (my favorite genre). Zurbaran painted it as part of a large altarpiece, but it makes quite an impression all by itself.
…Twenty-five years ago I had no time for pop art, or the sculptor Claes Oldenberg.
But now the everyday objects that he depicted in his sculptures don’t necessarily appear in everyday life anymore.
His three-way plug sculpture in Forest Park took me back to simpler days, and the house I grew up in, and the world before the internet (see below).
Speaking of which, the raging rivers I have seen on this drive reminded me of these lines, written by a St.-Louis native, T.S. Eliot:
I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god—sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities—ever, however, implacable.
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget. Unhonoured, unpropitiated
By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.
(from “The Dry Salvages” in Four Quartets)