Latest news with #MakeWayforDucklings'
Yahoo
15-05-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Lego Group opens new U.S. headquarters in Boston
Boston's business community just got a little more colorful, as the city welcomed toymaker Lego Group as its newest commercial resident. The toy company officially opened its new U.S. headquarters Thursday at 1001 Boylston St. The offices, which span six floors and 157,000 square feet of the Back Bay office building, will eventually be home to more than 800 employees. 'Boston is a key city for playing and opportunity, in sports, in digital or in the arts, and it's also an incredible center for learning, with some of the world's finest universities here,' CEO Niels Christiansen said. 'We know that by being in Boston, we are able to tap into a global talent pool that will help us develop and grow our business further.' Lego Group announced in 2023 that it would be closing its previous headquarters in Enfield, Connecticut, where it had been for 50 years. Some employees have already moved to or been hired in Boston, and the rest will have the opportunity to transfer over the next year. Read more: 50 years after arriving in Enfield, Lego's future clicks together elsewhere Gov. Maura Healey touted the company's arrival in Massachusetts as an example of the state's economic competitiveness. 'Lego is the standard for creative play and for innovation,' she said. 'At a time when we're concerned about devices and the impact of devices on our young people, Lego sets this incredible opportunity to offer our children gifts of imagination and also agency that makes it a perfect fit for Massachusetts, because we are the top-ranked state in America for education and innovation.' At Thursday's event, company leaders announced that over the next two years, Lego Group would contribute $5 million to provide access to play for children in Boston. This will include a partnership with the Boston Public Library to fund learning experiences for children up to age 13, among other programs. A visitor to the new Lego office wouldn't have any trouble recognizing where they were. Offices and common spaces are decorated with models built from Lego bricks. Nearly every room is equipped with a bin full of bricks that can be snapped onto the walls during meetings. Even surfaces not covered with Legos are reminiscent of the iconic toys: lighting, furniture and other design elements are circular and arranged to mimic Lego's patented 'stud and tube' design. Office amenities include flexible workspaces, parents' rooms and wellness areas, a cafe, gym access and panoramic views of the city. In the office lobby, a prominent series of models references Boston Common's 'Make Way for Ducklings' statue. However, the first duck in the line is not the expected mother mallard, but a wooden toy that was one of the first created by the company when it was founded in Denmark more than 90 years ago. 'Our founder's son hoped to achieve time and cost savings by applying only two coats of varnish to the ducks when the standard was three coats. His father found out and insisted the ducks be retrieved for a third coat of varnish,' Chief Commercial Officer Colette Burke said. 'Our 31,000 employees across the globe know this story and recognize the duck as a symbol of our commitment to quality.' Lego Group employs about 3,500 people in the United States, including at 150 Lego stores across the country. The company plans to open a new factory and regional distribution center in Virginia in 2027, which is expected to employ 2,000 people. Boston Puerto Rican restaurant opens second location in Worcester Over 40 pairs of sunglasses worth over $19K stolen from Boston store Boston Red Sox prospect goes 5-for-5 with homer, 5 RBIs; Marcelo Mayer stays hot BU center with over 1,600 brains gets $15M federal grant to detect disease Boston City Councilors renew calls for Fernandes Anderson to resign Read the original article on MassLive. Error in retrieving data Sign in to access your portfolio Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data Error in retrieving data
San Francisco Chronicle
10-05-2025
- Entertainment
- San Francisco Chronicle
Ruth Asawa inspired S.F. with her art, but can she help me understand myself?
Earlier this month, I stood in front of the redwood doors of Ruth Asawa 's house and realized I loved her — as much as I could love someone I'd never met. The doors led nowhere, standing off their hinges in a white-walled gallery at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art's new retrospective of the late Bay Area artist's work. But examining the circular hollows she'd carved by hand into the doors, I realized I'd been looking for her my whole life so that I could ask her a question. Like the underground creeks that run through my Oakland neighborhood, Ruth has been my constant, unseen companion. Her art backdropped my most tender memories. Drinking tea with my grandmother at our favorite garden in Golden Gate Park while Ruth was there as a bronze plaque molded to a stone. Sketching taxidermied predators at a natural history exhibit in Oakland as Ruth took the form of a wire sculpture on the wall. Waiting for my high school best friend on the Embarcadero on the weekends with Ruth standing by as an origami-esque circle of folded steel. I told all of this to Ruth's youngest daughter, Addie Lanier, in the back corner of a San Francisco cafe, that Ruth had been like a shadow attached at my ankle since childhood. 'That's appropriate that she was a shadow in your life,' said Addie, 66. 'She said, 'The shadow reveals the form' of her work because the shadow shows you there's all these layers inside.' But it wasn't until last winter, when I saw a photo at the Oakland Museum, that I realized who cast that shadow. The image haunted me for months: A butt-naked baby sat in the foreground, two woven sculptures hanging above him like gourds, while three other children busied themselves with their own tasks. In the background, face and body partly obscured by the sculptures, was a woman. She leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees and a spool of wire by her sneakers. 'Ruth Asawa and Children,' read the description. It was the most beautiful photograph I'd ever seen. And it also made me feel a bit nauseous, which happens when I've forgotten something important like my passport or to call my dad on his birthday. Only the something I'd forgotten was Ruth — her name embedded deep in my conscience alongside memories of wandering around the library after school and listening to the local radio station from my car seat with acorns in my pockets. On the internet, I finally saw Ruth's face. In black and white, her dark hair and broad cheekbones reminded me of the photos of my great-grandparents after they, and other Japanese and Japanese American citizens, were shipped out of California and incarcerated in Arkansas during World War II. Her face reformed in my mind as I boarded a plane to our shared ancestral homeland of Japan. While reading her biography, 'Everything She Touched: The Life of Ruth Asawa,' during the 12-hour flight, I learned that we both shared a love for matzo ball soup, the children's book 'Make Way for Ducklings' and Zen Buddhism. We each cut our college classmates' hair and studied watercolor. Ruth was also incarcerated at a WWII prison camp in Arkansas and later moved to San Francisco in 1949. I sat in my favorite cafe in Kyoto with an egg yolk over a bowl of rice while the Ruth in the book made rhubarb cake for her Bay Area community, carved her own doors from redwood trunks, organized funding for public arts programming and voiced her solidarity with Muslims after 9/11. Critics exotified her as 'oriental' and domesticated her as a 'housewife and mother.' The public speculated on the deeper meaning of her work. But Ruth seemed to pay no attention to any of it, never offering an explanation. She kept weaving, and mothering. 'Ruth was no fan of any labels — female, Asian, modern — preferring to stand on her own, as an individual 'minority of one,' her biographer wrote. She was fiercely unbothered, titling most of her sculptural works 'Untitled.' I, meanwhile, on the verge of turning 26 while reading about her, was having an identity crisis. What kind of writer am I? An Asian American writer? A writer who sometimes writes about Asian America? Should I also be an artist? Should I be a parent? Should I move to Japan? I quietly panicked on the train to Osaka, where Ruth has a sculpture mounted to a wall at the National Museum of Art. The bundle of wires that fanned out at its edges like a cross-section of a dandelion was immediately familiar. There's one just like it at the entrance of the Oakland Museum that, as a kid, I'd imagined as the symbol of my home city for all its tree-like bifurcations. But this time I saw its shadow, too, which blurred its frayed edges beyond definition. Back at SFMOMA, I sat in a recreation of Ruth's Noe Valley living room that faced a photo of her real living room like a mirror. Woven sculptures hung from the museum ceiling in the same orientation she'd once arranged them in. A week later I told Addie about my identity crisis, that I didn't know who I should be. 'My mom didn't really talk about identity,' she said. 'To her, identity was what you do, how you live.' I imagined Ruth sitting there on the floor, surrounded by spools of wire but also her friends and family. I saw myself, too, writing on my green rug, surrounded by the people I love. When Ruth was granted permission to leave the Arkansas prison camp and attend college, Ruth's mother bowed to her, Addie said, and told Ruth who she should be. 'Be lucky,' she said. I didn't fully understand what she meant and neither did Addie, who shrugged. But I felt myself taking this to heart, like a cell accepting a much needed nutrient. I asked, and Ruth answered.
