Jackson Hole Underground

Edward Rothstein of The New York Times writes a thoughtful essay about his visit to the National Museum of Wildlife Art.

Rothstein probes the meaning behind pastoral depictions of wilderness:

There is some fantasy in this, a simplification that can lead the way
into kitsch. But if taxidermy, hunting and painting are modes of capture, they are also modes of tribute. The moose heads mounted on walls or sold for thousands of dollars in souvenir shops in Jackson are affirmations of the hunter’s power and prowess. But like many paintings at this museum they are also monuments to a particular kind of encounter with the wild, in the wild. Environmentalism and hunting and painting become strange bedfellows.

Rothstein more vividly experiences the wild from the trails of Grand Teton park.

An adult circus came to town Saturday, as the Yard Dogs Road Show mixed music and theater in a saucy revue at the Jackson Hole Playhouse.

Gypsy burlesque drew nearly a full house. All weekend, from the Whodunit? show at the Art Association to the Pangea video campfire at LMC gallery, found people thirsting for art in all its forms. Mountain dwellers are restless for spring, even if Mother Nature is not.

The Road Show’s vaudeville was perfectly tailored for the Playhouse, a fantastical theater straight out of the Old West. Here is a slide show from the performance.

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The other reason, besides getting ready for this trip to New Orleans, that posts have been sporadic of late is I’ve been reading Norman Mailer for the first time.

Trying to write after reading Mailer is like playing tennis against Ivan Lendl. Every time you compose a phrase, as if tossing the ball into the air to serve, you wind up catching it because you know it will be smashed back in your face, even if the volley is taking place within your head.

Tough Guys Don’t Dance is a twisting tale of murder, hard partying and contorted relationships set in a resort town on Cape Cod. Given the mastery of the writing, I can’t wait to read Mailer’s two Pulitzer-winning works, Armies of the Night and The Executioner’s Song.

You’ll understand if I mention the spirits roaming the French Quarter or swirling in the Mississippi this week.

Here’s a look at Casper, Wyo., as seen through the lens of photographer David Stubbs.

Like Rock Springs and Cheyenne, Casper has a “historic” downtown with brick buildings and back alleys, but as in many of America’s small cities, this core is deserted after dark, a victim of the suburban exodus and surrounding sprawl. Someday someone will see the character and potential of these buildings for redevelopment, as we rediscover the efficiency and coolness of urban living.

I struck a pose in front of the upper building, but we’ll save that for another time.

Daily snowfall since last week’s post about the phenomenal skiing: 7 inches, 9 inches, 10 inches, 8 inches, 1 inch and, finally today, zero.

That makes 200 inches since Wednesday, Nov. 28, or an average of four inches a day for seven weeks. No wonder the parking lot atop Teton Pass was nearly empty this morning; everyone’s legs are shot.

It has snowed 42 out of the last 49 days in the mountains, and another four to six inches fell today after the Bridger-Teton avalanche forecast was issued.

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