Little Rock, Arkansas
This place will always be close to my heart because ten years ago I bought my first quilt there, a kinky Ozarkian Dresden Fan. (How was I to know that this would lead to helpless quiltoholism?) Well, they don't sell quilts any more in the new and improved shop--scarcity and inflation; but damn near everything else has changed--and for the better.
The first thing to catch my nitpicking Northerner's eye in Faubusland were handsome, new, black art acquisitions--Charles White and Romare Bearden. And the school children milling into and out of the center seemed benignly integrated--a far cry from the Telenews of the 1950s.
They all have plenty to be satisfied with. For adults there was a solid, packaged touring show from Daum Freres, the French glass magicians. For kids (of all ages, as they say) were the idiosyncratic toys culled from across these playful United States for the center's specialty, new concepts in fun and games.
Some were fey, and some were foolish; some were goofy, and some even too gamey--for the kid I was anyway. I wish more Americans could see these arty facts. And I wish a few could have shared my delight watching a can-of-worms-ful of elementary school children delving into the funkitude of it all.
As I grinned my way back to the Greyhound terminal, I observed that Little Rock is getting into history as well, in a big way. There's an entire village of structures exemplifying the stages in the history of Arkansas.
And an Arkansas Heritage Center as well, orienting visitors and locals to the glories and the grimaces that were Little Rock.
--from 20 Museums You've Never Heard Of/Horizon Magazine 1981
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