Strangers in subculture of parenthood should change that

“Because I Said So” column for The Commercial Appeal

April 10, 2014

No rule that in parents’ subculture we remain strangers

Every morning, I take my daughter to school. Every afternoon, I pick her up. And every day I see the same parents again and again. In the mornings, we’re usually tired, having gone through the 10-round struggle of getting the children up, pleading with them to eat something — anything — finding that shirt without the missing button, the socks that don’t irritate their toes, the misplaced binder.

Once we’ve made lunches and gathered up homework, that moment of dropping the kids at school feels like a mini vacation, the chance to breathe before the rigors of work, the complaints of bosses and the conundrum of where to eat lunch. We only want a few solitary minutes.

The stress shows in our faces as we arrive at and then leave the school grounds. We nod to each other, if we make eye contact at all, and might feign a smile if it isn’t raining and if we know that a still-hot cup of coffee awaits us in the car.

Despite the consistency of our muted interactions, we remain strangers in the subculture of parenthood. If we know anything about the other parents at all, it’s the name of their child and what grade he’s in, the fact that their daughter missed two days of school due to head lice or fever. All we know is what our own kids tell us.

And still we nod, we smile, we collectively roll our eyes at the challenge that is being a parent.

But Memphis is a small town in some ways and we’re bound to run into each other away from school. With no kid holding their hands, no pink and purple backpack slung over their arms at Whole Foods or messy poster board blown about as they make their way to Café Keough downtown, it’s as if seeing someone you’ve only ever seen with glasses on without them for the first time. They look a little wrong, don’t they? Maybe a bit ill.

It’s two degrees of “Don’t I know you?” We meet without a child and we have no idea who the other is or from where we know each other. We’re there, in the taproom of Wiseacre Brewing Co. or having lunch in Overton Square, and we come face to face with someone we know that we know, but can’t quite place the face or the name. It’s like as a child when you saw your father, always bearded, suddenly clean shaven. It was like a stranger in the house.

We should say hello at school. Be the first to say, “Good morning, my name is ” It only takes a minute, and we’re going to see each other for 180 days every year.

We’re all in this together, this parent subculture. It’s not the punk subculture of high school, or the jock subculture, band or drama club. This one is permanent, like it or not. It’s difficult, it’s messy and it is every single day of our lives.

So let’s stick together. That way, when we see each other out, away from the kids, we’ll recognize each other straight away and maybe we can raise a pint to toast our free time, because Monday morning comes all too quickly.

Permanent link to The Commercial Appeal

 

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Tylur French sculpts a future in public art

High Ground News

April 9, 2014

On the eve of the Bike Arch dedication in Overton Park, we look at what sculptor Tylur French has on the horizon. The artist has a decade of civically-minded work in Memphis and he looks forward to more of the same.
Before it was even complete, Tylur French’s bike arch sculpture heralding a new, pedestrian-friendly entrance to Overton Park, had become an icon. With the scheduled dedication and ribbon cutting set for April 19, the question of “what’s next?” is like a mantra for French. The fact is, he and his team at Youngblood Studio LLC, a full-service fine arts production studio, never quit working, never quit looking to the next opportunity even as they’re up to their protective eyewear in work.

In a 5,000-sq. ft. warehouse located just off Airways Blvd. in South Memphis, planes come in so low on arrival to Memphis International Airport that one feels he could reach up and touch the landing gear. It is here, among presses and drills, hammers, blow torches and all manner of metals and stone, making it feel more adult playground than workspace, that French has fashioned art both large and small. It’s something he’s been doing his whole life, beginning as a child growing up in Memphis and Kansas City, Missouri.

“I was raised a lot by my grandmother and she did everything. She was a painter and she did upholstery and she did leatherwork, wood carving, just about everything,” says French. “So she really raised me with ‘If you want to do something, you just have to figure out how to do it.’”

As a child, the lessons may not have resonated, but in hindsight as an adult, he says, “it stuck.” He eventually went on to the Kansas City Art Institute for a BFA in Sculpture and received an MFA in Sculpture from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale. From there, he apprenticed under artist Dan Yarbrough in New Mexico for a year and a half and then ran a sculpture fabrication shop in Seattle for two years.

“And then I just took a bunch of jobs that were along these same lines,” he says.

Though the plan wasn’t necessarily to return to Memphis, he’s been back and working steadily for about 10 years with his current set up on Airways for the past two years. In the end, he says, the success he’s found could have only happened here.

“I do like Memphis, and Memphis has a really perfect chemistry for what I do here. It’s not like a Chicago or an L.A. where, if you haven’t been there for 15 years, you have no chance to get a foot in any door.”

Working with French are full-time employees Andrew Meakin and Amanda Nalley, and contract help and interns are used as projects warrant. It’s the collaborative nature of the city that energizes French and that can be seen in a number of prominent works around town. He worked on the Cancer Survivor’s Park at Audubon Park with Yvonne Bobo, “The Wave” sculpture at Tobey Skate Park withMark Nowell and helped install Chris Fennell’s “Steel Guitar” at the Levitt Shell in Overton Park . . . (read more)

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