THERE AND BACK

found art



Rode over to Rugby today with friend Chris Durgen, an artist who works in wood, to see Wayne Henderson. He wanted to ask Wayne for some specific tips on guitar making as Chris is wanting to make a guitar for himself. I went along to deliver to Wayne his copy of the cd in gratitude and to be sure he had this recording he made back when he was in his 20s. This picture above I found where Bledsoe Creek Road joins Spicer Mountain Road. The sand was put there by the human mind for a purpose and the tarp put on it for a purpose, and no aesthetic consideration whatsoever. None. Separate from its purpose, I see a snow-covered mountain out west. Maybe Christo was here and wrapped a sand pile. This is the kind of art I love the best.



The drive to Rugby was a beautiful road all the way. From Sparta out 93 to 113, then 58 to Troutdale, left toward Whitetop Mountain to Rugby. At concerts Wayne says Rugby has a population of 4. Over the last few years with Jr I heard 4 obituaries from Rugby. I said to Jr, Rugby must be empty now. Of course, it was comic exaggeration to say 4. It's a beautiful highway through forest after leaving 58. It was a beautiful day for a drive, cloudy enough that sunglasses weren't necessary and sunny enough to have light just right without glare. Chris and I hadn't talked in quite some time so we both ran our mouths as fast as they'd go, conversation jumping all over the place.



On the way back, we stopped by to see Daniel and Robin Cater, the potters on Antioch Church Road. We sat on their porch looking into a nice stand of trees and a big rock cliff in the side of the mountain behind the trees. One of Daniel's clay sculptures stood on a natural shelf in the rock face. Moss all around in patches following the lines of the rock. We gazed off into the wooded side of the hollow and talked fast as we could get it done. Robin told me some of her experience of taking care of her mother with her 2 sisters while mother was dying. And I told some of my experience with Jr. We wiped our eyes some as we talked. I asked her if she'd had joy and sorrow mixed into one whole so you couldn't separate one from the other. She knew exactly what I meant. She went through her experience feeling both at once as the ongoing feeling.



It feels good to talk with someone who has had similar experience for the understanding that goes both ways. The conversation took us to a quiet, comfortable place within, red-eyed feeling sorrow and joy to the same degree, the dampness in the eyes from sorrow as much as from joy that brings tears. Robin knew Jean in a beautiful way. I told Robin the time she met and talked with Jean that she had been an angel unawares. I'd taken Jean to a Christmas party Marsha was giving of Farmer's Hardware. Jean knew no one there and I knew about a third. Jean was trying to control her nervous jitters to the place where she was just uncomfortable and feeling out of place. Robin walked in the door. Jean and I were standing not far from the door. Robin and I hugged, I introduced her to Jean, they started talking, fell into conversation, talked like sisters half an hour or so, then went over to the fire place and talked by the fire. And Robin didn't even go around seeing other people, though she knew plenty of them. She talked with Jean like friends who hadn't seen each other in a few years. When they got said all they had to say, each joined the party. Jean was relaxed, at home, felt good inside and out.



That evening I saw something in Robin I hadn't seen before. The sincerity I perceived in her from the brief encounters we've had over some years turned out to be authentic. I've become like the mountain people waiting to see if different ones are as they seem or if the seeming is veneer. I saw that night Robin's sincerity is from the heart, it's who she is. I've seen her a good bit since then and see it in her more and more until by now, today, the Robin I see is a light. I never forgot that night with Jean, what Robin did for her not knowing she was doing anything but talking.