Bamboo makes handbags stylish, captures carbon, and might be the next big thing on the Italian food scene

Me in Osun Grove, Osogbo, Nigeria, 2023
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Bamboo might be the next big thing in—wait for it—Italian food.

Many years ago, when I lived in Arkansas, a green-thumbed friend (and brilliant criminal-defense appellate lawyer) came by my house and advised me to rip out a small patch of bamboo that had taken root in my backyard.

"You don't want that," she said, eyes wide with murderous intent.

A first-time homeowner, I was skeptical of this plant prejudice. I could not get anything else green to survive the scorching summer in Arkansas. It seemed wrong to kill a stalwart survivor.

Moreover, my limited prior experience with bamboo was not adversarial. My university fraternity, in Virginia, maintained a small crop. Our annual harvest for a South Pacific-themed party—yeah, I see the cliché too, and you can bet we played into it—seemed to keep the growth in check.

My friend continued: "It'll take over, and you won't be able to get rid of it." 

"Well if it gets to be too much," I posited cautiously, "how do you get rid of it? There must be a way."

"Well," she cocked her head and thought for a moment. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. "You can nuke it," she said wryly. 

She might have overstated the requisite pruning strategy. But she wasn't wrong.

Once bamboo gets a foothold, it is extremely difficult to eradicate. It grows through a network of underground stems, from which it can re-sprout, even after you tried painstakingly to pull it all out. In New England, where I live now, bamboo is a problematic invasive species. It grows fast, expands its territory aggressively, and devours water, destabilizing native habitats.

Fast forward to a visit to Italy two summers ago, and I was surprised to discover that my cousin Daniele is in the bamboo business. When he first said "bambù," describing his venture and passion, I thought it was an Italian word that I didn't know.

No; it's a cognate. Daniele Marroni is the brains and heart behind Maremma Che Bambù, a thriving bamboo grower making food products.

The business has a clever name, actually, a play on words. This is an aside, but stay with me; it's worth it.

"Maremma" is a region in Tuscany that includes Pitigliano, where Daniele is and is from, and where my grandparents emigrated from. The Maremmano sheepdog and horse are named for this region. Pitigliano is in the heart of the Maremma Grossetana, meaning the part of Maremma in the province of Grosetto, in the south of Tuscany.

The coastal and low-lying parts of the Maremma region were once much swampier than they are today, having been widely drained for development. Accordingly, in the lower case, maremma, in English as well as Italian, refers to a marshland, exactly the sort of watery terrain where bamboo thrives, and which has not disappeared from the region.

Meanwhile, maremma has an entirely other usage in Tuscan slang. It's one of my favorite things in language, in fact: a "near curse," or what linguists call a "minced oath"—like "gosh" instead of "God, "darn" instead of "damn," or "freakin'" instead of, well, you know. Maremma is old; probably it comes from "Madonna," so a way to take the Virgin's name in vain without offending hearers.

In this usage, "maremma maiala," the latter word meaning sow, in the swine sense, is a generic, mild curse. Alternatively, maremma acts as an exclamation to emphasize what follows. Thus, Google translates "maremma che bambù" as "wow, look at that bamboo!" Or, at risk of lexical borrowing, I prefer, "Mamma mia, look at that bamboo!" (HT @ Mmargheritas.)

Bamboo and Ginger Jam
by Maremma Che Bambù
© Maremma Che Bambù
Used with permission

So back to the bamboo.

Archaeologists tell us that bamboo once grew in Italy, in prehistoric times, but went extinct something like a million years ago. It returned in modern times, imported from Asia, first as an ornamental plant, as early as the 19th century. It worked its way into textiles after World War II, famously pairing with Italian leather to form the handle of an "iconic" 1947 Gucci handbag. 

In the 21st century, bamboo has taken off as a crop in the name of sustainability. It's now farmed widely in Italy and elsewhere, where it is not native. Especially in the south of Italy, giant bamboo species are farmed on a large scale. The appeal of the "bamboo forest" is that it's a huge carbon sink, removing climate-change-inducing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere at perhaps 36 times the rate of an ordinary woodland —also thereby entitling investors to carbon offset credits, where such programs exist.

The ideal, then, is to turn the bamboo into product, to close the sustainability loop. Forever Bambù, for example, an Italian benefit corporation, touts its "Made-In-Italy" branding and posits that bamboo biomass can replace problematic products such as plastics, along with dangerous forever chemicals.

"Alongside other partners, we have produced the first biopolymer granules with a variable percentage of giant bamboo filler, a fully biodegradable material," CEO Mauro Lajo told Renewable Matter last year. "We are also doing research into the worlds of bioconstruction and eco-leather products, with incredible results." I don't know what all that means, but it sounds promising.

Daniele Marroni
© Maremma Che Bambù
Used with permission

Daniele is working the edible angle in the sustainability loop. He explained at Maremma Che Bambù (translated):

Bamboo shoots are a healthy food with rich nutritional properties. Low in sugar and fat, they are rich in B vitamins, minerals (copper, manganese, calcium, iron, potassium, and phosphorus), and fiber, contributing to proper metabolism. They are excellent for those following a low-calorie diet and for vegan or vegetarian diets. Their calorie intake is very low: only 27 kcal per 100 g. In Asian cuisine, bamboo shoots are used primarily in soups or stir-fried with mushrooms, vegetables, white meats, or fish. Their flavor is very delicate, a blend of artichoke, asparagus, peas, and potatoes. A neutral base that lends itself perfectly to original pairings with local produce.

Maremma Che Bambù sells Bamboo and Artichoke Cream, Bamboo and Ginger Jam, Bamboo Shoots, and Ready-Made Bamboo and Vegetable Sauce. I'm a pushover for ginger, admittedly, but I give an earned nomination all the same to the jam as my favorite. Shipping presently only goes to Italy, but if you want to place a large order, I'm sure it's worth reaching out.

Pitigliano, 2024
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Even better, visit Pitigliano. At Maremma Che Bambù, you can visit the bamboo grove, sample the product, and, best of all, pair bamboo with wine.

Daniele's roots are in Pitigliano and Maremma Grossetana almost literally; since 2015, the bamboo venture has taken over what once was family vineyard.

Pitigliano wine exports shrank in recent decades, as the global industry saw mass-market producers price out smaller vineyards from international trade. Daniele appropriately diversified, but managed to stay in farming and preserve a local vibe. Pitigliano and neighboring towns on the Etruscan Via Cave trails still produce mouthwatering wines and other fare you can try when you're there.

At the end of the day, I confess, I don't know the math on climate change and bamboo farming in Italy. But if I can help the environment by eating, I'm in.

And hey, if it doesn't work out—worst case? We nuke it.

Me at the (defunct) nuclear launch controls of Oscar-Zero (NHS/SHS) in North Dakota, August 2026
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

This post is not promotional, and no compensation, edible or otherwise, was exchanged for my endorsement of the business and products discussed herein.

Bhutan turns tourism into 'Gross National Happiness'

At the Takin Preserve: Bhutanese Prime Minister Tshering Tobgay
with me and visitors from the United Kingdom and United States.

Little more than a half century ago, the Kingdom of Bhutan was walled off to the world.

Today, tourists are welcome, but with strict controls that aim to leverage social and economic development.

Earlier this month, I traveled to Bhutan and had the privilege of meeting the prime minister, the Hon. Tshering Tobgay. The PM was visiting the Motithang Royal Takin Preserve in Bhutan, located just outside the capital, Thimphu.

Takin calf at the preserve.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The takin, by the way, is a large mammal native to the Himalayas, a genetic relative of sheep. One subspecies of takin is specific to Bhutan and is revered as the national animal. The preserve provides a sanctuary for the massive herbivores, thus also protecting the environment from their destructive appetite.

Tobgay was not at the preserve for a refresher on Bhutanese fauna; rather, the PM was escorting the 2025-appointed American ambassador to India and special envoy for south and central Asia, Sergio Gor, on a touristic and diplomatic visit. Gor was reciprocating a Tobgay visit to the United States in December.

Tobgay and Gor, at the PM's right, feed a takin.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

A longtime Bhutanese politician, Tobgay is American educated. He earned a bachelor's in mechanical engineering at the University of Pittsburgh in the 1980s and then a master's in public administration at the Harvard Kennedy School in the 20-aughts. He published a book in English last year: Enlightened Leadership: Inside Bhutan's Inspiring Transition from Monarchy to Democracy (inset below).

Bhutan is a constitutional monarchy, though still leans heavily on the monarchy part of the description. The crown initiated a policy of democratization in 1952. A first national assembly was appointed the following year and given the power to impeach the monarch. Today, the king formally appoints the prime minister, though in practice the appointee is elected by the legislature. Similarly, final decisions of the Supreme Court formally are referred to the crown for approval.

Supreme Court of Bhutan, Thimphu.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

In modern international law, Bhutan is renowned for its commitment to "Gross National Happiness" (GNH), a national policy priority introduced in the 1970s. A holistic measure inspired by Buddhism and informed by factors such as health, education, and living standards, GNH has been embraced conceptually by the international community—Bhutan joined the United Nations in 1971—as an alternative to economic productivity, the conventional measure of a country's success. One Bhutanese host explained to me that GNH does not mean every person is happy; rather, GNH describes the aims that should justify national policy-making.

Bhutan opened to foreign tourism only in 1974 and allowed television and the internet only in 1999. It still guards its borders jealously, allowing a limited number of tourists who must book through state-authorized agents and pay a US$100-per-day sustainable development fee. When I visited, my visa was arranged wholly by the tour service I used.

However restrictive Bhutan's social and political conservatism, I could not argue with the results I saw on the ground. People I met in Bhutan expressed affection for the king and queen, often noting that the royal family lives in a modest home and champions public education. Schoolchildren I happened upon in Thimphu were uniformed and polite, while also cheerful and playful, and they spoke English confidently.

Buddha Dordenma, visible from Thimphu center.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The sustainable development fee seems to be well reinvested in infrastructure, such as paved roads, and touristic sites, such as the 177-foot Buddha Dordenma statue, completed in 2015, that towers over Thimphu. A travel companion told me that the winding rural roads we traveled were unpaved when he visited a couple of decades ago. In literacy and life expectancy, Bhutan significantly outpaces its cohort in the "medium" range of the U.N. human development scale.

Thimphu, capital of Bhutan.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Insofar as I heard any gripe about government policy from the Bhutanese, it was that high-quality healthcare remains elusive, especially in the countryside. Nevertheless, when an American travel companion asked my guide about the cost of treatment after the guide mentioned a family member's cancer, the guide narrowed her brow in puzzlement. Then she shook her head, understanding the question, and said, "free, of course."

Rinpung Dzong, or "Paro Fort," a 15th-century monastery
and top tourist destination, in Paro, Bhutan's third-largest city.
Owned by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Thinking over what we had seen, some of my travel companions wondered aloud whether monarchy might not be so undemocratic after all. That struck me as curious after what I heard about some Nepali youth protestors speaking wistfully of monarchy there. Invariably upon such musings, an American, sometimes me, would say that the efficacy of monarchy might depend a bit too much on who is wearing the crown.

The United States does not have formal diplomatic relations with the Kingdom of Bhutan, thus Ambassador Gor's visit as special regional envoy. Gor has some personal connection to, well, at least the Asian continent. He was born in Uzbekistan—"Gor" is a chosen truncation of Gorokhovsky—and migrated with his family to the United States, via Malta. He graduated from secondary school in Los Angeles.

Amb. Gor

How did an L.A. immigrant wind up with an ambassadorship in the Trump administration? Gor has been involved in Republican politics since his post-secondary days at George Washington University. His recent ambassadorial qualifications include fundraising for President Trump and starting a Trump-reverent book publishing company with Donald Trump, Jr.

After the 2024 election, the President appointed Gor to head personnel appointments. President Trump later credited his "great friend" Gor with "nearly 4,000" party-loyal hires in the new administration. Presumably Gor himself included.

Make space for public lands, right to recreate

Beaver Dam State Park

Different people feel differently the pinch of the federal government shutdown in the United States. 

(All photos from Nevada in August 2025, except T.R. Birthplace; all photos by RJ Peltz-Steele, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.) 

I'm fortunate not to depend on the federal government for my paycheck. I'm saddened for the steadfast government clerk trying to make ends meet, and nothing I write here means to diminish that anxiety. Professionally, I've been disappointed to see the work of the federal Freedom of Information Act Advisory Committee paralyzed. The committee comprises some heroic public servants in federal agencies.

Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace
National Historic Site,
N.Y., June 2025

On the purely personal front, what hits me hardest is to see the closure of public lands, such as parks and museums. I treasure these places where the public can find education, recreation, and respite. Maybe because I'm an academic, I don't much distinguish among the three. So much of our public dialog in America is preoccupied with how we work. But it's on public lands that Americans live.

As a libertarian, I'm wary of public lands. But I'm not a great, or "pure" libertarian. I have always been what I call a "moderate" libertarian—I've been called a "bad" libertarian—because I do not believe that the private sector is the answer to all problems. I rather believe that being a libertarian is about being thoughtful: making an informed decision at the threshold of any given problem as to whether the problem is better addressed by society as a composition of independent private actors—the presumption—or by society as a collective.

A vexing problem for libertarians is the tragedy of the commons, which arises when competing private individuals, acting in their own interests, will intolerably deplete a resource that the society as a collective requires. The environment is often raised as paradigmatic example. Any one private actor is incentivized only to cut down the trees, or use fresh water. But society needs there to be trees and fresh water, saved from depletion.

Selected public lands in Nevada, besides state parks

American society is heavy on libertarianism—the "Wild West" ethos has long outlived western settlement—but maintains its own delicate balance of liberty and collectivism. The duplexity was embodied by President Theodore Roosevelt, whose reconstructed childhood home I visited in New York in the summer. Roosevelt, a nature enthusiast, was a rugged individualist, and also is credited with founding the very notion of U.S. national parks, which today are widely regarded as a crown jewel of federal government purpose.

All 27 Nevada state parks

Pure libertarians respond to the tragedy of the commons by insisting that the private sector can handle it. The tree cutters ultimately will stop cutting trees, or farm more trees, because they want to keep cutting trees. Water consumers will not use all of the water, because eventually, they will suffer thirst. A slightly watered down take on pure libertarianism makes room for non-governmental public interest organizations to manage collective resources. But there's no place for government.

My Nevada drive
(excluding two national parks
I visited previously)

I find these responses strained and unconvincing. If we destroy the glaciers of Glacier National Park because corporations want to commodify the pure waters, or because wealthy people want to land helicopters on them and take home souvenirs, there's no restoring a natural glory that took 170 million years to form.

If the planet bakes while we wait for the trees to regrow, then the private-sector experiment has failed in a profound and irreversible way. If we run out of fresh water while we wait for innovation to perfect desalinization, then millions might die, and only a few persons with inherited wealth might survive. I wouldn't call that a socially optimal outcome. 

The problem with the purely individualist approach is that it assumes infinite time, perpetual capacity for resource renewal, and indifference to human suffering in the meantime. That sounds to me like a recipe for humanity's self-extinction.

"Citizen Science Station,"
Tule Springs Fossil Beds National Monument

Public lands are an easy call for me, even as a libertarian. I would like to live in a world in which everyone has access to recreational opportunities, and everyone has a chance to see the inexplicable glory of the creation that fills the earth.

Writing about nuclear weapons in September, I mentioned the time I spent in the summer exploring public lands in Nevada. I visited all 27 Nevada state parks, and a great many other public lands as well: local, state, and federal. Local and state parks fortunately carry on while the federal government is shut down.

I am grateful for all these places, local, state, and federal, and the people who steward them.

One fun thing I happened upon in Nevada was a "Citizen Science Station" at the Tule Springs Fossil Beds National Monument. There, a bracket is mounted on a pole, prepared to receive a smartphone, so that passersby can take a photograph of the terrain. Images can then be uploaded to Chronolog.io, which partners with the National Park Service. The collected images are then compiled into a time lapse series (below, at end), which users can enjoy and study. I contributed an image (Aug. 7, 2025).

Notwithstanding so much natural beauty and the participatory excitement of the Citizen Science Station, I found memorable something else I saw at Tule Springs, a different kind of socially minded contribution from the private sector:

Go see the natural wonders of Nevada, including fossils and fossil beds. See them before the pure libertarians cart them off to private museums, where no doubt they'll be best cared for.

Durango Loop Temporary Trail at Chronolog

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Conflict ebbs in West Africa; entrepreneurs ready to welcome tourism, spark economic development

Conflict is ebbing in West Africa, and local businesses are hoping to spur tourism and economic development to restore ravaged communities.

Many parts of West Africa have been difficult to reach in recent years, owing to armed conflicts and social turmoil. That means cultural treasures such as UNESCO World Heritage Site Timbuktu have been off limits, and communities that would benefit from foreign spending suffer economic paralysis or worse.

The situation is improving, if at a two-steps-forward-one-step-back pace. To navigate the changing terrain and start restoring tourism and economic opportunity, local entrepreneurs such as Mali-based Satimbe Travel are stepping up.

Ouologuem dances at the Ouidah Voodoo Festival, Benin, 2020.

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

I hope to travel with Satimbe because my friend Hamadou Ouologuem is one of its founders and a tour leader extraordinaire. I am happy to give him and his partners some positive press in the interest of regional development. This is in no way a compensated promotion.

Satimbe has been in the works for many years. The project has prevailed over potentially ruinous setbacks in the pandemic, in 2020 and 2021, and in the outbreak of violence in the Central Sahel (Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger), in 2023. The latter conflict devastated communities, as rival factions—one being the Russia-based Wagner mercenary force—deployed scorched-earth tactics against civilians, inflicting crises of hunger and housing. 

The conflicts have not wholly abated, but have been scaled back to hot spots that guides can plan around so travelers avoid. 

In August, the Mali government felt comfortable enough with security in Timbuktu to return there ancient documents that were removed to the capital Bamako before al-Qaeda militants occupied the city in 2012 (PBS NewsHour). Meanwhile, in a positive development for civilian security, Wagner forces in Mali have experienced what The Sentry, a D.C.-based nonprofit and war-crime investigative organization, described in an August report as a "meltdown."

Satimbe mask
(In Museum CC0)

My two cents: attacks on civilians and resulting humanitarian crises in the Sehel would headline the world news were it not for the West's peculiar blind spot for Africa. The region needs foreign investment, and as importantly to get started, needs foreign interest and understanding. The way to help is simply to go, responsibly, all the better relying on a homegrown service provider such as Ouologuem.

Ouologuem's experience in the region is renowned; he is the on-the-ground coordinator to whom professional producers turn, especially in Mali. He worked on public broadcasting's Finding Your Roots with Henry Louis Gates, Jr.; BBC One's Sahara with Michael Palin; Into the Unknown with Josh Bernstein: Lost Gold of Timbuktu; and Digging for the Truth: Timbuktu.

A "satimbe" is a ceremonial funerary mask of the Dogon people in Mali and Burkina Faso. The mask is associated with a female figure, like in the Satimbe Travel logo, placed on top.

Satimbe Travel can arrange tours in Mali, Burkina Faso, Benin, Togo, and Ghana. The company can tailor flexible itineraries for two days to two weeks, or more. The company is prepared to make arrangements for tourists, NGOs, missionaries, and corporations.

Vietnam marks 50 years since fall of Saigon, but American corporations overshadow communism today

At Hoàn Kiếm Lake, Hanoi

Vietnam recently celebrated the 50th anniversary of the fall of Saigon, and I visited Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City to see the country today.

(All contemporary photos by RJ Peltz-Steele, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0, with no claim to underlying works.) 

Known in Vietnam as "the civil war" or "the American war," the Vietnam War was a hot chapter in the Cold War story, as the United States sought to counter expansion of communism in Indochina.

The war was barbaric on the ground and devastating to life and land. Estimates range from one to three million civilian and military lives lost in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. More than 58,000 U.S. service members were killed. Land and wildlife were laid waste by lethal chemical defoliants, Agent Orange just one among them, inducing waves of cancer and birth defects. 

In the United States, veteran healthcare was overwhelmed by what would later be recognized as post-traumatic stress disorder. Meanwhile, the social turmoil of war protest shaped a generation of counterculture so powerful that it went mainstream, transforming law and society—even working as impetus in the development of modern First Amendment and transparency doctrine.

(For an anecdote from "the Hanoi Hilton" prison, see Analog propaganda proves persuasive to some at 'Hanoi Hilton,' where exhibits selectively whitewash war, The Savory Tort, July 30, 2025.)

Shipmate, the magazine of the U.S. Naval Academy Alumni Association, recently has published a series on the Vietnam War and its aftermath for veterans, "Legacy of Valor." The latest issue, July/August 2025, contains the fourth entry in the series and features USNA alumni stories.

The May/June 2025 Shipmate, which featured Marines' stories, also highlighted Vietnam War exhibits in the National Medal of Honor Museum (MOHM), which opened in Arlington, Texas, just in March. I was struck by similarities between MOHM—in the narrative and pictures, at least; I have not visited yet—and the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, where I visited in June. MOHM's largest artifact is a restored Bell UH-1 "Huey" helicopter donated by a veteran pilot; there's an American UH-1 Huey at the museum in Vietnam, too (with me below).

(Inset: Cover of Shipmate, March/April 2025, credited to Capt. Tom Murphy, USNA '66, USN (Ret.), depicting Murphy, at left, with his SEAL team in Vietnam in 1969. "Murphy was awarded a Silver Star for his actions that helped eliminate a heavily fortified Viet Cong camp on 2 March 1969," the magazine added.)

An American Huey UH-1H at the War Remnants Museum, Ho Chi Minh City

Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum, Hanoi

Saliently, the superpower United States lost the war, beating a humiliating retreat from the southern capital, Saigon. Vietnamese forces trumpeted the persevering efficacy of ruthless guerilla warfare. The sweep of communism crushed western collaborators and the remaining resistance and sparked a humanitarian crisis as refugees escaped to the sea.

Yet to walk the streets of Vietnam's major cities today, one could be forgiven for confusion over which side in fact won the war.

Ho Chi Minh City

The fall of Saigon—today, Ho Chi Minh City, though "Saigon" is still widely used, at least to refer to the touristic center, and "SGN" is the IATA code of the international airport—is celebrated on April 30. The contiguity of international labor day on May 1 makes for a holiday break.

This year, innumerable banners, signs, and monuments lined streets throughout the country to celebrate the 50th anniversary. I wonder at the cost. The posters bore patriotic illustrations that would be at home in a historical compilation of 20th-century Cold War propaganda.

Yet the banners stand juxtaposed against a background of signs demonstrating the market dominance of western corporations, namely the likes of Coca-Cola, KFC, and ubiquitous 7-Elevens. 

A local guide who took me to the Cu Chi tunnels, from where Viet Cong guerilla fighters waged brutal resistance against American forces from underneath a great swath of the country, told me how his family lost their home and modest wealth and fled Saigon when all property was nationalized after the communists took over the south.

Communism never delivered on its promises, he said. When his father returned to the family home, he found it occupied by party apparatchiks, hardly "the people." Still today, he said, despite commercial development, Vietnamese people suffer poverty, grade-school-limited public education, and no universal healthcare. That's not much to show for a communist people's victory.

"We hate Americans," he joked, smiling. He explained that the regime, apropos of the classic propaganda-poster style of the 50th anniversary images, still teaches schoolchildren to hate America. But people know better and have "moved on," he said. "Now we drink Starbucks."

It occurred to me, insofar as corporatocracy is the measure of the day, it's maybe truly representative democracy that lost the war, both in Vietnam and in America. 

Lunar-new-year commemorative beer from Budweiser, for sale at shop, Mỹ Tho

Roadside signs, Ho Chi Minh City

Billboards, Ho Chi Minh City

Exhibit at War Remnants Museum, Ho Chi Minh City

Marker at Hoàn Kiếm Lake, Hanoi

Exhibit at Thăng Long Imperial Citadel, Hanoi

 

Marker in traffic circle, Hanoi

Contemporary sculpturist comments on Ukraine war

Lakenen considers the war in Ukraine in this 2022 sculpture.

A couple of weeks ago, I visited artist Tom Lakenen's Lakenenland, a sculpture park in the Marquette area of Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

I'm a sucker for an outdoor art installation, and Lakenen's work does not disappoint. I only had a couple of hours, but I could have spent the day exploring the inviting woodsy trails.

Composed of "junk," Lakenen's art in its very existence speaks to capitalist materialism and environmental sustainability. About and even besides such themes, Lakenen has a lot to say, and much of it resonates with the ordinary American, especially in terms of economic frustrations. I could not help but notice that vehicles in the parking lot boasted bumper stickers of both "red" and "blue" American political extremes. But insofar as any visitors expressed outrage, it was along with the artist, not at him.

Lakenen is always adding new pieces. I was especially moved by his 2022 work on the war in Ukraine. Above and below, I share some images of that piece. I thank Tom Lakenen for sharing his art with visitors. All photos by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0, with no claim to underlying sculptural works, presumed © Tom Lakenen.