We thought a perfect fourth of July activity would be to visit the Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton Township, since cultural activities usually aren't on the menu for most families on this holiday and the weather wasn't unbearably hot. I had never been there before, but would most definitely return again to spend some more time wandering around when (hopefully) all of the buildings reopen despite Covid. They also have an absolutely lovely restaurant that reminds me of a cross between a Middle Eastern cafe on one side and a European castle-like intimate dining room, with French cuisine. It was booked solid but definitely is another place to eat on their terrace or inside and soak in the atmosphere; the gardens are gorgeous and well-tended.

Along with Seward Johnson's incredibly lifelike statues of ordinary people or anachronistic painters and picnickers around the park, I found most of the art very enjoyable, although abstract. However, I was captivated in one of the courtyards. I saw two statues that were incredibly lovely representations of women sunning, and the lines, wrinkles, and yearning for warmth through what seemed ordinary or even hard lives etched themselves in my memory. They are the only two sculptures there by Leonda Finke, who I had never heard of before, and although I'm unsure where the rest of her art is displayed, I would love to see more of it.

In some ways they reminded me of more optimistic versions of Rodin's Fallen Caryatid series, where the woman is trying her best to fulfill her duties but is crumpled by the weight of them. She has given everything and needs someone to take the burden so she can recuperate before she re-shoulders it, but there is no one to help her so she has collapsed. The struggle isn't over, as she is not totally crushed, but if no relief comes that will be the ultimate result. 

Finke's women seem to be in that middle, mourning period of life, young enough to remember a more carefree time, but old enough that the experiences and hardships of living have taken a serious toll. The luxury of tilting their face to the sun is a brief respite that can temporarily lift their burdens in a small but important way before they go inside, close the door, and return to the daily mundanity that is gradually wearing them down.

Of course, what we interpret in art is dependent on our viewpoints and where we are mentally and emotionally when we encounter it, so I very much realize that I'm projecting myself onto these pieces. It is instructive to see where my mind goes, though, and Rodin's Caryatids have haunted me for years for similar reasons. Perhaps I can replace his vision with Finke's, and take the more optimistic view. Instead of bent but not yet broken, I can be weary but not yet defeated, and turn my face to the sun.