Artists From The Mill At Shady Lea

#FoodforThoughtCreativeQuarantine

from Hera Member John Kotula

An Old Artist on the Road In this Time of Contagion; three drawings, a photo, and reflections

         My wife, Deb Drew, had been planning to hike the Appalachian Trail for a long time. This year was the year! We left Rhode Island on March 13th, Friday the 13th, headed for the beginning of the Trail in Springer Mountain Georgia, where she would begin a six month, solo, through hike. The plan was that I’d drop her off and continue on to Florida to do some volunteer work. As we started out, news of the Corona Virus epidemic was intensifying, but we saw no reason to change our plans. As we drove south, everything began to unravel. First my volunteer plans, which included living in close quarters with a group of people from across the US and working in agricultural communities began to feel like they posed too much risk of exposure. I cancelled and decided to bum around Florida on my own for a couple of weeks, before Heading North and rendezvousing with Deb to help her clean up and restock. Deb hit the trail on schedule. She was very excited and curious about what was in store for her. We reasoned that six months walking in the woods, might be the safest place to be! I went on, first to Silver Springs and then to Cedar Key. I planned to practice social distancing on the road; laying low, relaxing, walking, reading, writing, binge watching Schitt’s Creek, and, of course, drawing.  

         Day by day, the pandemic intensified, and the utter incompetence and mendacity of the Trump administration revealed itself. Deb hadn’t been on the trail a week when the Appalachian Trail Conservancy advised hikers to leave the trail. Their reasons focused on hikers being vectors that could spread the virus from community to community since the trail passes through many towns along the way and concern that services hikers need might not be available, especially if the hiker got sick. Since I had access to news coverage, my alarm grew along with everyone else’s. I began to be anxious about being so far from home and worried about getting stranded. What if my car broke down and I couldn’t find anyone to repair it. Despite these underlying fears, I enjoyed myself and figured out that, although I’m a naturally gregarious guy, I can do social separation if it is necessary.

         As I write this, things are in flux. I’m meeting Deb in three days (that’ll make it March 22nd) and we’ll decide together what comes next. Playing it by ear is the only option, right?

         I’ve been making drawings. I’d like to share with the Hera community three of them. I’ll throw in one photo and and my reflections on these images in this time of contagion.

Drawing #1

 My first stop in Florida was Silver Springs where I had gone to visit my girlfriend from 8th grade. We hadn’t seen each other since we were 14, but a few years ago we became Facebook friends. When my plans to be in Florida developed, I asked her if I could buy her lunch. We took a stroll in Silver Springs State Park and then went out for Mexican food. We swapped life stories. There is no one I am in contact with who knew me when I was 14. Hers are the oldest memories of me that I have access to.

         When we were in 8th grade we had a very close connection. For her it was based on friendship, acceptance, and companionship. For me, it was all that plus some early romantic sexuality. She said, “I didn’t really understand that boy friend girl friend stuff. I just thought you were my best friend. I remember once you kissed me at the bus stop and I thought, what was that about, because I didn’t understand until much later.” It was brief. Then our lives diverged and we didn’t see each other until last week. Her life got very hard. It sounds like she has survived it through strength, intelligence and kindness, but I don’t think any of it was or is easy. And me? All and all, it has just been a joy. How to explain my good luck and privileged existence? I have no idea, but I sure am grateful.

         This drawing is dedicated to my old friend. I hope our paths cross again before too long.  

Drawing #2:

I have been spending a lot of time alone. For example, today I had brief contact with just three people; a guy I bought a latte from this morning, the host of the cottages I’m staying at who I chatted with briefly about can openers, and the postmistress this afternoon when I mailed a letter. I haven’t touched anyone in several days. However, I don’t feel socially isolated, because I am having a lot of contact through text, email, social media, the US mail, and occasional phone calls with family and friends.

         This drawing came about because I heard that one of my grandsons had broken up with his girlfriend. This was his first serious one and I had wondered how he’d do when it ended. We exchanged some texts, not to address the break up directly, but just so he’d know I was thinking about him. When I clicked on him in my contacts I saw that he had added to his name an emoji of a muscular arm. We joked about that and when I got off the phone, I started this drawing.

         The sound track while I drew, playing first in my head and then on Youtube, was Joe Cocker singing Unchain My Heart. I thought of the drawing as tattoo flash and this evolved into a couple of fantasies/flash stories.

         The first is autobiographical: Although he’d been happy and successful, even late in life he couldn’t shake the notion that being a tattoo artist in Key West might have been a better fit.

         The second was longer and pure fiction: He thought of himself as a model citizen of Cedar Key, although he had been drinking beer for breakfast for 20 years. His preferred modes of  transportation were bike and fishing skiff. For awhile he got a new tattoo every time he banged a tourist lady but he ran out of skin around 2000 just about the time his batting average started a serious slump. On the bright side, he was on a first name basis with several pelicans. His income, which actually was sufficient, came from a steady bar tending job, his design for welding sea turtle sculptures, and selling small quantities of weed he grew on National Wildlife Refuge Land up the coast; hence the fishing Skiff. On his forty-fifth birthday, he started to make some major changes in the way he’d been living. For example, he took on a significant renovation of his cottage. The sweat equity, probably made him a hundred thousand dollars richer on paper, but of course he’d never sell the place. He knew exactly what had brought this about, but he didn’t think about it much based on the theory you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. One night at the bar he was listening to Joe Cocker’s version of Unchain My Heart. These words formed in his mind: “Damn, dude. You ain’t going to get nowhere begging somebody else to unchain your heart. You just gotta be strong and break the damn chains yourself.”  Things were better after that.

Drawing #3:

Yesterday I went walking on a trail that followed an old railroad bed. I picked up this pine cone thinking it would make a good drawing challenge. While I was drawing it today, I remember, sort of vaguely, that pine cones need fire to release their seeds, so I looked it up: "Some species, such as the jack pine, even rely on fire to spread their seeds. The jack pine produces "seratonous" (resin-filled) cones that are very durable. The cones remain dormant until a fire occurs and melts the resin. Then the cones pop open and the seeds fall or blow out." Evolving In The Presence of Fire, David Herring.

         What if we thought of ourselves as pine cones and the corona virus as our fire? Maybe it will pop us open and release our seeds to grow something new. We could hope that the new thing would be a full realization that we are all in this together and that we will only survive if we take care of each other; that there is no room for aggression, competition, choosing up sides; winning, trying to come out on top; only room for compassion, generosity, community, respect, and love.

Here's hoping.

The photo:

 Within a month I'll be 75. I'm on the big sunset tour. However, this photo was taken at dawn. Damn, what a metaphor! I doubt the corona virus or anything else is going to kill me before May 14th. So, I’m likely to wake up on my 75th birthday to the dawning of a brand new day full of hope and opportunity! You can’t ask for more than that.