Fondation Beyeler, Riehen, CH

I grew up in Fahrnau, a small town in Germany, just on the fringes of the Black Forest (Schwarzwald). It is one of a handful of villages that sprung up along the Wiese (River) with Zell at one end and Loerrach on the other. Just south of Loerrach, the river crosses the border into Switzerland to then empty into the Rhine at Basel.

A rail line parallels the river all the way from Zell to Basel which is the main transportation hub for the entire area. Basel boasts an international airport, and no less than three separate railway stations (Swiss, German and French). My paternal grandfather was an engineer on the SBB (Swiss National Railroad). As a result, I became very fond of trains. I would always try to get a seat by the window from where I would look out intently. Even at a tender age, I would notice how dramatically the scenery suddenly changed when the train crossed into Swiss territory. The German side looked wild, almost unkempt; whereas the Swiss side looked very neatly manicured as if every blade of grass had been lovingly tended. This was understandable right after the war. Each side, though, had its own particular charm and I don’t mean to infer that one was better than the other. I was just struck by the difference, that’s all. Today, of course, there’s no longer any difference in the least.

The first Swiss town the train passes through (but does not necessarily stop at) is Riehen, a suburb of Basel. It is a postcard perfect, small village with many grand historic buildings and gated mansions along the main road that runs between Basel and the Swiss-German border. A notable exception is The Fondation Beyeler, a modern complex of exhibition halls, commissioned by Hildy and Ernst Beyeler to house their vast collection of mostly 20th Century European art. The museum was designed by famed architect Renzo Piano and opened in 1997. Some 200 works of classic modernism have since been on permanent display there, reflecting the period from Claude Monet, Paul Cézanne and Vincent van Gogh through Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein and Francis Bacon. The paintings appear alongside some two dozen objects of tribal art from Africa, Oceania and Alaska.

Seeing this museum was a must for me, especially as it is located in what I consider to be emotionally my stomping grounds. I balked at the rather high entrance fee but, never mind, everything in Switzerland is expensive. Inside, I was not allowed to take pictures, but the paintings were very familiar and are intimately known to anyone with even the most cursory interest in art. The venue was exceptionally well suited for its purpose. There are two floors, one of which can be considered as basement. It was there that the obligatory ‘Save the Earth’s Forests’ display had found a home in the form of stunning photographs by top photographers from around the world.

The setting for the Fondation Beyeler is no less spectacular than the art it displays. Tuellinger Hoehe, a green, grape (vine)-covered hill with an ancient church perched at the top, looms in the distance. Closer, around the perimeter of the museum, are apple and pear orchards. Brown cows with bells round out the idyll. Inside the perimeter, the gardens are fragrant. It was here that the accompanying pictures were taken. I understand that sometimes these grounds are used to display temporary garden sculpture exhibitions.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India

Do I have a fresh perspective on Thiruvananthapuram (formerly known as Trivandrum)? Nothing that hasn’t been said before; except maybe the one aspect that is so immediately striking – especially, when fresh in from the chaos and clutter of Chennai, India’s only first-tier city in the south where I currently reside. Yes, one is instantly aware of the studied order of Kerala that is particularly evident in Thiruvananthapuram: no litter, no garbage; no stray dog(s), no oxcarts, no random cows roaming the streets - the list could go on and on. I was born and spent a good part of my childhood in Trivandrum.

Situated in the southern-most part of Kerala - and not far from Cape Comorin (Kanya Kumari) - is the state capital. It is a staid town when compared to effervescent, commercial Kochi, 200 km to the north. Thiruvananthapuram is comprised largely of bureaucrats, administrators and academics.

Its name is derived from the fabled temple of Sri Padmanabha (Vishnu) in the center of the town that enshrines an awesome image of Vishnu reclining on the coils of (time) the serpent Ananta. It can only be partially viewed through one of three doors. Only one day a year (Vaikuntha Ekadasi) are all three doors thrown open to reveal the entirety of this spectacular idol.

There is an elaborate protocol for visitors to the temple that can be quite irksome as it requires having to wear just the right kind of dress (dhoti for men, and sari for women). In this day and age this seems quite unnecessary. Of course, it goes without saying that rigid orthodoxy forbids entrance to non-Hindus, a strange contradiction in a communist state.

Located near the temple is the Kuthiramalika Palace Museum which houses the exquisite collection of paintings by Raja Ravi Varma. The Museum is not far from the zoo which is set in a wonderfully landscaped garden. As a child my trips to the zoo - when my father came on his whirlwind visits - were always high points in my otherwise uneventful life.

Of course, how could I forget the Arabian Sea? That was the ultimate outing for all of us, piling into cars to go to ‘the beach’. It meant exciting adventures on the pristine sands of the exquisitely kept Shankhumukham (beach). Seen forty years hence, it is still that way, and the same goes for the tiny ocean front restaurant which, even back then, dished out the most scrumptious vegetable cutlets that I would ever know.

While he lived, British architect Laurie Baker, was one of Thiruvananthapuram’s most famous ex-pats. Of all the places in the world, he chose this city as his home. His imprint remains forever emblazoned there in the form of several utilitarian, eco-friendly, yet attractive red brick structures. The Coffee House in the center of town, a tower containing a spiral interior and the entire campus of the Centre for Developmental Studies come to mind as some of Baker’s more dramatic achievements.

Thiruvananthapuram still retains that slightly aloof and formal manner which goes well with the big houses behind high walls on quaint streets that are swept clean of litter everyday. My earliest memory of Thiruvananthapuram’s streets are the ‘STICK NO BILLS’ postings on walls which somehow remain symbolic of a town and its residents.

Parvathi Venkatraman, Chennai

Lower Manhattan

This is where all the trouble started (if anything can be said to start at any given point). Anyway, there’s a big hole in the ground here and people from all over the world come to look. Some mark it as the start of something: a first strike in on our own shores, resulting in our “War on Terror”; others see it as a criminal act for which guys should be serving time in jail. Many - both at home and abroad - say that we’re the guilty ones by the way in which we’ve live our lives. We’re still allowed to disagree amongst ourselves about all this – and then cast our ballots.

However it happened (or happens), there’s still a big hole in the ground in Lower Manhattan which some have come regard as the center of the economic engine driving world economies. True or not, no doubt there there’s lots of money here (or is it debt?). It used to be that the highest building in any given town was the church; now it’s the bank. In Lower Manhattan one can hardly see Trinity Church squeezed in between the tall buildings anymore. We’ve all but forgotten that George Washington attended services there. It’s possible that some day we’ll decide to take it down and build another bank. - But wait! There’s still that hole in the ground to deal with. Let’s do something about that one first; just to show them that we still have some fight left in us. But, then again, how do we bring back the dead?

Truth is, we’ve been so traumatized, and we’re hardly in a position to do anything beyond putting up a fence around it so that nobody else gets hurt. Just a few blocks away, life goes on as if nothing ever happened. We’ve even built four waterfalls and billed them as a sign that New York City has moved on.

Still, we’ve felt compelled to build ramps and lookouts at Ground Zero. No tour guide dares to omit what happened here. It seems people from all over the world are coming mostly just to look at that big hole. They think of it as a metaphor of sorts. It’s been a bit unsettling for those of us who wish we could finally decide on something to fill it with - a waterfall, perhaps – and then be done with it.

There’s a Water Taxi that leaves South Street Seaport every hour on the hour. It takes about an hour to cruise around Lower Manhattan, up the Hudson River a ways and back down along the Jersey side to view Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. Then it loops around, past Governor’s Island and up the East River. This is the “waterfall” part of the ride. There are four of them. The one just under the Brooklyn Bridge, to my mind, is the most dramatic. Back at the Seaport, there are restaurants and shops. The day we were there, a contortionist was performing on the pier. From there, it’s a relatively short walk down to Wall Street, the Stock Exchange and Trinity Church. Most may want to see the site where the Twin (World Trade Center) Towers stood as well.

Peter Koelliker pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area (NJ)

As a family, we’d been climbing Mt. Tammany at least a couple of times a year ever since our kids were babies. Back then, we carried them up the steep, rocky trail on our backs. Starting at the Dunnfield parking area, we would follow the red markings emblazoned on trees and rocks all the way up to where the earth literally opens up, revealing a broad ribbon of river below. Greedily gulping as much air as our lungs could hold we would settle back on the rocks - 1250 ft. above where we had left our car - and gaze down on a silent world. We’d see the cars and trucks moving along Rt. 80 of course but, from this height, they made no sound – like toys. Below us, too, hawks traced perfect ovals, clearly enjoying the fact that God had given them wings. In those days, our bodies were still well tuned and we never felt the strain of the climb.

Sometimes we’d go again in winter, when the air was dry and raw. The kids were bigger now; too big to be carried. They’d want to stop frequently and sit down by the side of the path, refusing to budge. “We’re tired,” they’d complain. Eventually, we’d be able to cajole them into going at least as far as the first spot from where one could see the valley open up below.

Years later, it would be the kids who’d literally drag us up the mountain. We were the ones who would shamelessly beg for cigarette breaks while our lungs were all but bursting. The kids were merciless, exhorting us to keep going, inadvertently (perhaps) but effectively shaming us for having neglected our health. Despite the pain, the view at the top remained a suitable reward. It had the effect of instant nirvana, facilitating a kind of “letting go”. Our bodies hummed with the rhythm of the universe; our heartbeats slowed, and suddenly we felt ourselves to be wiser than we’d ever been. A cigarette in celebration of this harmonious moment would signal the end of it. Down was easy; twenty minutes at the most; courtesy of gravity.

After the kids graduated and moved away, we too stopped going to the Gap. Then, one day, quite recently, we gathered enough courage to try it once more. Our health was better now. We had been eating better; we practiced yoga; we exercised; we had given up smoking. The climb up Tammany would be a test. Had our focus on healthier living paid any dividends at all? We could only hope.

We climbed quite sprightly. When we reached the top, we could honestly say we‘d been in worse shape. The view, of course, dwarfed all such concerns. We could have died and gone to heaven right then and there.

Peter Koelliker pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

The 9th Annual New Jersey Flower and Garden Show

Next weekend (Feb. 17th-20st) New Jersey’s (indoor) Flower and Garden Show once again gladdens the hearts of area residents. It runs Thursday through Sunday and is a great place to take a break from winter. There is lots to look at and to buy. There are professional horticulturists to ask for advice concerning your plants, inside and out. There are builders who can install fountains, waterfalls or swimming pools; carpenters who build decks; landscapers; etc. There’s food for sale: honey, cheese, trail mix, etc. There are fabulous floral displays; flowers to take home in bunches or in pots; paintings; photographs; bottles of wine; etc.

Best of all, there are lot’s of anxious, pale-faced people to observe – people, young and old, whose expressions demonstrably change when they are suddenly confronted by a virtual riot of botanical color the likes of which they haven’t seen in months.

The accompanying pictures were taken at last year’s show, which I attended with my mother. It gave both of us the courage to hold out ‘till spring.

Google New Jersey Flower and Garden Show for more information and directions. The New Jersey Convention Center in Edison is easy to get to from most major New Jersey highways. There’s plenty of free parking.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Sravanabelagola, Karnataka, India

Sravanabelagola is just a day trip (about 100 km) from Mysore in the South Indian state of Karnataka. In fact, it’s often bundled together by Mysore tour bus operators with stops at two ruin cities of the Hoysala kingdom, Haledid and Belur - splendid temples at both locations.

Shortly after we arrived as exchange students at Mysore University back in ‘74, our chaperone arranged for the twelve of us to take this very tour. We were eager to get out and see something of the countryside with our cameras at the ready. Our sprawling campus had already become somewhat too claustrophobic for our tastes.

Of the three sites, Sravanabelagola was by far the most dramatic. This was said to be one of the most popular Jain pilgrimage centers in South India, and is known for its colossal monolithic statue of Gomateswara at the top of a hill. (All Jain pilgrimage sites are atop of hills.) We climbed the time-worn steps that went up the mountain. And that’s exactly how it was. Not only was there a giant statue, but Jain priests were busy conducting a ceremony, pouring milk, curds, ghee and saffron over the naked stone idol. I stood there and watched in wonder and took a picture.

Thirty years later would find me in Mysore once again. My wife and I signed up for the three-site tour. Sravanabelagola was our first stop. I was eager to see it again. Nothing much looked familiar, but that was to be expected after so many years. There was a brand-new entrance gate at the bottom. We started our climb. Somebody said there are 500 steps to the top. Indeed, we could not see the top. We climbed higher and higher. Now and again, naked men passed us going the other way, their faces smeared with ash. We stopped frequently to catch our breath and look around. The higher we climbed, the stronger the breeze became. It felt good.

At last we reached the top. The sheer size of the statue took my breath away. It stood serenely atop of the mountain and had bamboo scaffolding all around it. My mind balked. I tried hard to reconcile what confronted me at that moment with my admittedly sketchy memory of same. For one thing, this statue was gleaming bright under the clear Karnataka skies. The one I remembered was black (which was entirely possible for, I was told, the ghee poured over the stone sometimes had the tendency to turn the stone dark). Yet, I grudgingly decided that this was not the same statue I had seen the first time around. If I had, I would have remembered it. It’s sheer size alone made it unforgettable.

And this remains a mystery. Where exactly was I when I thought I was there thirty years back? There was another hill in town. I thought maybe, back then, we had climbed the other one. I searched the internet, but found nothing even close to what I remembered at that location. I asked my professor who had been in charge of us back then. I asked my wife who had grown up in Mysore and made this pilgrimage any number of times. All came up empty.
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Today the mystery was solved. It seems that not 20 km from Mysore there’s
Gommatagiri. A 700-year-old statue of black granite stands atop a fifty meter tall hillock called 'Shravana Gudda'. This statue of Gomateshwara is said to be an early Vijayanagara creation . The center attracts many pilgrims during the annual ‘Maha masthakabhisekha', held in September. That would coincide with the time we were there.

The statue at Gommatagiri has a striking resemblance to its famous counterpart in Sravanabelagola except that it is dwarfed by comparison. Googling Gommatagiri and then clicking on images, I finally solved the puzzle that had haunted me for nearly half a lifetime.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Art in Summit, NJ

On a recent visit to the town where I grew up in Germany, I noted that a lot of contemporary sculpture had inexplicably made inroads into the general landscape. I was told that the German government requires builders to solicit artwork to be displayed along side any new construction. The aim presumably is to give artists the opportunity to share in their community’s economic fortune – government-sponsored affirmative action for artists, if you wish.

I realize this column has visited Summit once before when we were discussing the Reeves-Reed Arboretum. Ironically, it was the man-made sculptures displayed there that drew our attention and not the roses, the daffodils, the sunflowers, hyacinths, etc. This time we return to Summit once more for here too modern sculpture has been cropping up in many of its public spaces. As it turns out, The Mayor’s Partnership for Summit Arts has been a force in bringing contemporary sculpture to the town so that people who may not necessarily be so inclined as to visit museums are also given the opportunity for accidental encounters (with modern art) just by going about their daily routines. Most works remain in place for about six months after which they are either moved to a new location or returned to the artist.

The program, in effect since 2004, has been successful in securing space for about 20installations in various parts of the city. The largest collection can be found in Wilson Park; but downtown, city hall, the high school and the train station have also become venues. In addition, three bus shelters along Broad Street have been outfitted with stained glass windows.

The Reeves-Reed Arboretum, of course, remains an attractive place for artists to display their work, as is the High School. These venues however have no direct connection to the Mayor’s Partnership.

Connection or not, there is no doubt that all manner of art has been cropping up in Summit. This has always been a town with a soft spot for the finer things in life. The restaurants here are first class. The Summit Playhouse has been around as long as I can remember. There is also an Opera House, though no longer used for its stated purpose (only the name remains). Summit is also the New Jersey Center for the Visual Arts which features rotating exhibitions by established artists as well as Center students in a bright, modern facility. Summer evenings often feature concerts in the park. And don’t forget the annual art show for which several streets in down town are closed to traffic.

It might be instructive to mention that, unlike in Germany, all this activity is supported privately. I still remember when the German government decided that anyone claiming affiliation with a church would be required to pay a “church tax”. This effectively contributed toward emptying the pews.

Peter Koelliker pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Ice Storm

It’s been a rollicking winter in this part of the world. Every few days it snows. This makes it tricky for those who have steep driveways and jobs to get to in the morning. Even if you have a contract with someone to come and plow you out, chances are they won’t get there till late. They’ll have been busy all day.

So if you happen to have kids in the house, you’re likely to send them out with shovels. Even if they do a good job, it’ll be slippery. Backing the car down will likely end you up in a snow bank. This necessitates yet another round of shoveling - or rather, ‘digging out'.

Yesterday, on top of everything, we had an ice storm. This morning, every branch, every leaf was encased in ice. The driveway was so slick, you could practically skate down it and pick up the paper. After spreading sand or salt, you start the car and ease it out of the garage. So far so good. What happens next is predictable because its happened before.

Once you hit the slope, the car begins to slide. You remember someone saying, “Keep the wheels turning; don’t hit the brake.” You check the rear view mirrors, but all you see is white. The car pulls to the right. You turn the wheel to compensate. Too late! You’ve hit the snow bank and you’re stuck.

Forward is impossible. Too much gravity working against you. Backwards is blocked. You can throw all the sand you want under the wheels, they’ll just keep spinning (unless you have four wheel drive).

Such are the joys of living in a temperate climate. There are flashing lights down the block. The electric company has come out. Then you notice that the houses across the street don’t have power.

Now you feel better. It can always be worse. You go back inside and make yourself a cup of coffee. Then you call the boss to tell him you won’t be in today.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com