There’s a place in the mall where I’m staying (yes, my hotel is in the mall) that’s called the museum of illusions, which sounds a lot like how this part of Houston feels, especially in the early morning fog. I took these after breakfast yesterday. I could have stared at that thing for hours.
It’s fascinating how much this part of Houston reminded me of Dubai, even in its muggy evening breeze that indicated to me that there’s a gulf out there somewhere around here.
More street scenes from my first Texan morning. The first breakfast wasn’t included in the conference, so I got early and walked to a nearby “A.M. Eatery” called Snooze and had shrimp and grits, because “when in Rome,” I guess?
The server there noticed my camera and gave me a bunch of recommendations for good photo opportunities. She asked about Seattle and wondered if the fog felt familiar; I told her “not quite” – the humidity that morning literally fogged up my lens, something that never happens here.
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I had a lovely time learning about St. Martin’s Houston, the parish with the largest membership in the whole Episcopal Church (although they probably don’t all show up at the same time on Sundays). They very generously served us a BBQ lunch, which was a surprise in Lent, but in my most Pauline way, I very graciously accepted. Didn’t think I’d get to have Texan barbeque on this trip but, clearly, it is God’s will.
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One of the most unexpected highlights of this trip was getting thrown headfirst into rootin’ tootin’ Texan culture at the Houston Rodeo. This full immersion was thanks to my second cousin who lives here and has lived here for 40+ years. This wholehog experience was *a lot* to take in, and even more hilarious for him and his family, who seemed to enjoy seeing my jaw drop every couple of minutes.
Everywhere I looked, there was something or someone interesting, but it was almost too overwhelming to photograph. But I think I managed to get a little slice of this cobbler pie.
I had no idea how big of a deal this event is in the Houston calendar when my cousin asked me if I wanted to go, so walking into the stadium and seeing so many guys and gals in their boots and Stetsons almost set me into a “Jerusalem effect” delirium. This was actually real! And after the five minute prayer invocation, the elaborate national anthem featuring a woman riding a horse while standing up and waving the star-spangled banner, AND the “Crown Royal Military Salute,” I was pretty sure I’d died and gone to discourse analysis heaven. It was fun. Yes, fun. Weird, wacky, buck wild, fun.
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The first time I encountered a Rothko was completely by chance; I was in NYC for school, and we were told to visit a gallery for inspiration, so I made a beeline to the modern art wing at the Met and was absolutely struck dumb when I stood before the work of this artist I’d been familiar with (who isn’t, at this point?) but hadn’t given much thought to, until I stood there and was so viscerally and incomprehensibly moved by his work — you just had to be there.
A similar thing happened on my way to Houston: I kinda had no idea that the Rothko Chapel, this amalgamation of fine art and the sacred I’d seen mentioned in countless books and articles, was in Texas. I’d always wanted to see it, and now I randomly had the opportunity? Wild.
So, I went there on my last morning in Houston, my carry-on in tow, and it did not disappoint. Even my Lyft driver knew it to be true: this space bathes you in diffuse light and gentle stillness. He told me it’s a great place to “just relax,” and I did.
I do admit though that, heading there, I was deep down saddened to learn that photography wasn’t permitted inside the space; I understand why this rule is enforced [and it really is enforced: the space is looked after by the coolest gen-z invigilators dressed like goths that you kinda wish would look the other way or at the very least become your best friends] but I also know that a camera lens for me can be very reverential. And yet, this sacred space even healed that anxiety, offering up these moments of beauty to help me mark my impressions through homology and synchronicity.
The space also featured ‘Broken Obelisk,’ a sculpture by Barnett Newman that’s another weird connection: it has a twin right here in Seattle at the UW campus.
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I spent a couple of hours by the corner of Texas and Main in downtown Houston last Friday night, and I caught an eerie vibe in the air; maybe it was how under-lit the city seems to be, maybe it’s the particular cocktail of drugs that adds a certain menace to the urban vagrancy so common to our cities – I don’t think I feared for someone’s well-being anywhere the way I did there – or maybe it was just my mood. But I didn’t really feel like exploring as much I thought I would.
I’m glad I got to see this neighborhood before leaving Houston; it changes the whole vibe knowing that it’s there, kinda how realizing there’s a whole old town over the Mound in Edinburgh or crossing the University Bridge in Seattle completely changes how you see those cities.
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Years ago, I read about a group of Japanese tourists who were visiting Texas. They’d been on a tour and as they bid their guide adieu, heading down the steps of whatever civic building they’d been touring, they heard a cheery “y’all come back now, y’hear?”
So they turned around and ran back up the steps.
Texas was a lot—like a lot a lot—and I sometimes felt like those Japanese tourists. But I will actually come back. I have family here. I made friends here. Weird as it is, I will come back.