When I got the news I pulled off I-65 North and nosed into the Spalding University Library. En route from Nashville to Cleveland, it felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Chet Flippo—the storied Rolling Stone editor who’d gone toe-to-toe with Mick Jagger, smoked cigars with Uma Thurman, helped land Willie Nelson dressed as Uncle Sam on the cover of the magazine, igniting my pre-teen imagination—had died.
"Since daybreak, I had been wandering around Cadillac Ranch, an enormous outdoor sculpture made from ten classic Cadillacs planted hood-first in the middle of a wheat field in Amarillo, Texas, abutted by a cluster of RV parks and motels. Erected in 1974 by the art collective known as Ant Farm, the “Stonehenge of the Panhandle” has become one of the most beloved attractions along Route 66. Part of the Ranch’s appeal comes from its conspicuous absence of velvet ropes, viewing hours, and annoying wall texts."
The story of how two women, Clifton and Byrd Lewis—are fighting to save one of Frank Lloyd Wright's creations, Spring House. Wright never saw the house, but the son of the architect who worked on it says, "There's a spirit to this house, a sense of timelessness, permanence, truth, and beauty." The house, though still standing, needs at least $250,000 worth of repairs to keep it from crumbling.
We would argue that Bayou Maharajah, which won our 2013 Best Southern Film Award, is one of most culturally important documentaries made in recent years. Through a stunning collection of dreamlike montages of New Orleans streets, rediscovered footage of Booker's performances, and interviews with Booker's admirers (including musical icons Irma Thomas and Allen Toussaint), Keber grants us access into the life of a uniquely talented and unjustly neglected American musician.
In Daniel George's series, Natural Selection, we are invited into the quiet yards, driveways, and streets of suburban coastal Georgia. We see a yard where, behind a chain link fence, barking dogs are replaced with stoic plastic deer, a house where dolphins frolic on the shutters, and an alley where a potted plant lays forgotten.
More than two months before opening arguments in the landmark same-sex marriage cases before the U.S. Supreme Court, Reverend Jasmine Beach-Ferrara stood in a limbo of sorts, between the Arlington County courthouse and the county jail. “Right now, we are second-class citizens in the South,” she said. “What’s happening today is about us telling our country a story that we hope can open people’s hearts and minds.”