The meadowlark won't be on the flag, but its delightful song will be forever in your Minnesota heart.
Lisa Wersal, Vadnais Heights
The Nov. 30 Star Tribune reached out to a self-referenced expert — a vexillologist — to help sort through the trials of our Minnesota flag replacement ("Expert who wrote the book on flags grades finalists"). The professional, in response, offered five rules for sound flag creation. This observer — a children's author and illustrator — was thinking the professional would know or should know that originality in science or art, or brilliance in design or execution, often arises unexpectedly as the result of sudden epiphany, and it can rarely be prescribed or circumscribed by rules.
One of the flag-replacement finalists does reach the level of brilliance and epiphany in this observer's opinion: It's the one the expert refers to as fifth and the commission identifies as F1435. Number F1435 excels as abstract design and color — that is to say, with reference only to itself, before any interpretation or attribution of meaning. F1435 is unusually lively from a distance, and in flight, and seems to fly even standing still. More important, F1435 invites and rewards interpretation. For example, rather than pointing to Northern European or Christian associations (association with the star of Bethlehem is unavoidable during the Christmas season), its star welcomes interpretation as a First Nations motif. Second, F1435's "plants," as the article calls them, invite an imagining of our Minnesota woodlands, possibly from a time before the Paul Bunyan clear-cut. The plants can also suggest Minnesota wetlands and prairies (including wild rice), possibly from a time before we repurposed them for agriculture. Finally, the lines, left and right, read as bars from a distance, ingeniously (if subtly) reference our first tribal nations. F1435 is a brave, and bravely inclusive, design.
I very much fear F1435 will not be chosen, but imagine if it were. Minnesota could be a state with a flag designed by a Native American. There is so much to heal and, it sometimes seems, so little interest.