I have a slight fascination with sculpture parks. Throughout the United States (and I’m sure thew world), they bridge the gap between nature, community and art in a way that can give one an inside view into the minds of the neighborhood. Another thing I love about these parks, is that I never know what to expect. Some are vast and expensive, some are dull and drab. It all depends on the combined factors of how much freedom the town gives the artist, what the budget is, and what is going on inside the mind of the sculptor. Going to one of these parks is almost like a game of Russian Roulette, where one doesn’t know if they will hit a jackpot, or if the park will be a disappointing waste of time. Pappajohns Sculpture park was one of those jackpots, providing a morning of basking in wonder.
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