These aren't your grandma's windchimes. Intrigued by what appear to be random daliesque windmills dispersed along the main road of Orcas Island (“main” being a generous term here) we visit their source, Anthony Howe Art. The dirt road and wander-about-our-property-at-will attitude are unprepossessing. The artwork is not.
The symphony starts with a resounding drumbeat I can't locate, the viola notes added by virtue of Olotron, something I can only describe as a slotted silver sphere turning in on itself. Finally, the piccolo and marimba kick in from the airy Factory, a giant Rube Goldberg creation, except in shimmering metal and music. With the addition of a light show as the breeze that is never far on an island twirls metal triangles, squares, and diamonds, this symphony makes me desperately want his kind of yard art. I can't afford it, but that irrelevant fact doesn't yet intrude.
Between the shine and bright lights, you'd think my ADD tendencies would be full court by now. But oddly it has the opposite effect, soothing with just the amount of dream noise you want on a fantasy island, which this always has been for me.
An afternoon in a sculpture garden, then back to Georgia Strait waves. A different kind of orchestration, a similar calm. Finding hidden gifts is part of the music of the San Juans.