Rainy Days and Dystopian Sundays Always Get Me Down


When I imagine dystopian landscapes, I usually think about Logan's Run or The Twilight Zone.

Edward Hopper isn’t the first to come to mind, but perhaps he should be.

I recently journeyed to the Taft Museum in Cincinnati for the sole purpose of viewing the prestigious Phillips Collection exhibit, FromWinslow Homer to Georgia O’Keeffe.  One of the highlights of the exhibit was Hopper’s Sunday.

That's not fair, there was time now... to smoke?


At first glance, the brightness of the painting fooled me into thinking it depicts a happy Sunday scene. But my eyes eventually settled on the lone figure seated in front of the vacant, nondescript building, and a feeling of silent desperation settled in. The solitary, morose character seated in front of the bare building looks desperate as any of the hard-faced characters one might find wandering in a desolate Rod Serling-inspired post-apocalyptic wasteland. The seated man appears destitute, sad, and without hope.

The offered image is stark and empty of humanity except for the lone figure. It’s Nighthawks by day, and I can picture Mr. Henry Bemis carrying two stacks of books towering over his head, uncertain of his footing, stumbling out the front door and crashing into the empty street beyond.


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