Posts Tagged ‘Dave Shultz’

Hank Gets a Boost

April 19, 2020
Chilly Sunday Morning with Two Slumbering Dogs

Waking to a chilly Sunday morning with the warmth of two dogs nuzzled against me, I reached for my phone and found a message from a friend that brought to a peak a heartwarming series of events beginning last evening.

After painting most of the day, I packed away Hank and my art supplies for the night and tuned in to NBC to watch the Global Citizen presentation. Throughout the entire performance, I was moved to the point of tears. Professional musicians played without the immediate gratification of a packed audience cheering before them. Medical personnel and social workers tearfully shared their experiences with people they did not even know personally as they fought against the dreaded effects of this virus. Three emcees in separate living rooms spoke only to cameras in front of them, putting out an affirming and entertaining script and conducting sensitive interviews with people around the globe united in an effort to do something wholesome for a population under siege–(all this in sharp contrast to the negative public verbal posturing that has been filling out the daily dose of coronavirus coverage–the worst possible behaviors demonstrated intentionally in front of news cameras). What fresh, cleansing water this night performance offered to us as an alternative to the daily news sewage. What a healing balm. What a display of unity. I felt drawn in and embraced by humanity. Kudos to Lady Gaga, if this was indeed your vision, and to all you others who worked so hard to make this a reality.

As I watched, I frequently reached for my journal and scrawled out observations and responses. And in the midst of the activity it suddenly dawned on me that Hank was conceived during this coronavirus, during a time of staying put in my residence. And as I daily added stories and paintings to the saga of Hank, a number of readers began to join in the chorus, giving further definition to Hank. It was then that I realized that Hank was more than just a fictional character born in the midst of the virus; he became a source of introspection as a number of people began sharing their own personal perspectives about finding one’s way in this world.

The message this morning on my phone came from Dave Shultz, my friend from Palestine, a professional photographer and like myself, somewhat of a wanderer. He has made a home in Palestine, but still owns a home in New Mexico, and the coronavirus found him trapped in New Mexico, just as it confined me to Lubbock, away from my own home. So, here is my mesage from Dave that has helped crystalize what I’ve been feeling since last night’s presentation:

I woke up at 3:30 this morning thinking about Hank. You built a character that has become very real to me. My mind just wouldn’t settle down and I finally had to get up and do some writing. I apologize for hijacking your character but I still want to share my thoughts.

Dave

I don’t see this as a “hijacking”. Rather, I am delighted every time someone else finds a piece of himself or herself in Hank. I believe there is some of all of us in Hank. And thus, this fictional character has in a sense become real. And now, with no editing, I share Dave Shultz’s contribution to the Hank series:

Hank was often asked by people he met on his journey if he was lonely. He would answer with a slow smile and tell them there was a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Some people got it and others were confused but that was always his answer. He thought about it a lot and realized some thime ago that he was never lonely when he was alone. In fact, the loneliest he had ever been was when he was with someone and wished he was alone.

Being alone was a good time to think. There were distractions but they were short lived and his thoughts returned easily to whatever he was pondering on. Today he was pondering on habits and rituals. He came to the conclusion that he did things and performed tasks out of habit but the way he did them was a ritual.

Setting up camp was a habit. The ritual came in how he did it. He always gathered wood in the last of the light and started his fire. Building the fire was a ritual. He used dried grass and bits of bark first. It would always light with a single match. Then he would add small twigs and slightly larger sticks. As soon as those were well caught, he added larger sticks. That was the fire he cooked his evening meal on and just before he crawled into his bed roll, he would build a pyramid of larger logs over the fire. They would be slow to catch and burn slow during the night. In the morning, the unburned ends of the logs radiated from the coals like the spokes on a wagon wheel and he could simply push them into the glowing embers to get a morning fire started.

Preparing his bed was another ritual. He would clear an area of sticks and rocks first. Even the smallest pebble would feel like a boulder at two in the morning. Once the ground was smooth, he would hollow out an area for his hips. He frequently slept on his side and if he didn’t prepare an area for his hips, he would wake up stiff and bruised. Not the best way to start a day. By the time he had his bed roll smoothed out the fire was just right for cooking and that was always his next task.

While he was cooking and eating his supper, he enjoyed staring into the fire but after clean up, he always sat with his back to the fire and allowed his night vision to return. The dark night sky would start to twinkle with tiny dots in a few places and with patience, all the stars would reveal themselves and he would start picking out the constellations his father had taught him as they lay togethr on the backyard grass just before bedtime.

They were old friends and you can’t be lonely with so many old friends to share your evening. He would seek out and visit Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor and note their position in the sky. Then he would find the three constellations whose brigthest stars (Altair, Deneb and Vega) from the Summer Triangle – Aquila, Cygnus and Lyra. Sleep always came easier when he had a clear view of the summer sky.

Hank would take off his boots and place them close to hand before he slipped into the bedroll and as he lay smiling at the stars, he felt a peace he never felt in a city. He knew if he were staring at a ceiling instead of a sky full of old friends he would be longing to be exactly where he was now. He would sleep well and dream of trails unmarked by any boot prints other than those behind him.

Thanks, Dave Shultz, for extending Hank’s story, and thank you readers for always following.

I make art in order to discover.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

Ichabod–Where is the Glory?

May 3, 2019

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight

                 To me did seem

            Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore;—

             Turn wheresoe’er I may,

              By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

William Wordsworth, “Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”

At the time of this writing, I find myself seated in a crowded but congenial cafe, sipping coffee and using my journal as a net to capture the butterflies of flitting thoughts. I find myself yet again drinking great draughts from a life on the move, and while sitting here scribbling, these words from Wordsworth drifted through my mind.

I am saddened when I recall these words from the poem, because in them I hear abyssmal sighs of regret from a man in his thirties, convinced that his best years are behind him–those years of youth, alertness and innocence. And it appears that he was correct. As I recall, Wordsworth had emerged successful in his writing by the time he reached his thirties, and though later honored as Poet Laureate, had already plateaued yet would live another forty or more years. Throughout my life, I have heard on many occasions those regretful words of creative souls who felt they had lost their creative edge.

I learned long ago that the Hebrew word “Ichabod” is translated “Where is the glory?” The damning implication is that it has departed. That was the sentiment of the original reference in the Jewish scriptures, and in the nineteenth century with John Greenleaf Whittier’s  poem “Ichabod.” Both pieces of literature are chilling as they lament a glory that has drifted away from youthful Israel and from youthful America.

Emerson and Thoreau also had much to write about the ways in which aging people experience the evaporation of childlike curiosity, flexibility and openness to the mysteries of the world around. With all honesty, I testify that I am not suffering from that at all; I feel the glory still radiating around me as I move through this marvel of a life on earth. If anything has dulled for me, it is the ability to capture these sensations in words or paint, if indeed I ever possessed those abilities at all. I still find myself chasing the means for capturing and sharing this glory.

Since last weekend, I have found myself bathed in beauty. I savored the hours seated in my booth at Artscape in the Dallas Arboretum, soaking up conversations with countless patrons and chatting it up with new artist acquaintances. I have serenely rearranged my work in The Gallery at Redlands and experienced yet another relaxing stay in the Redlands Hotel. I laughed through a morning slot with the broadcast team on Smooth Rock 93.5 FM. I returned to Dallas to deliver a work of art to a patron at White Rock Lake. Over the past several days, I have spent over fourteen hours gliding along Texas highways, watching the landscape unroll before me like an endless manuscript open to renewed translation and intrepretation.

Times like these leave me feeling like a wandering mendicant. But at Artscape I met a true wandering mendicant, a genuine itinerant artist:

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Jim Tunell, photographer, in a booth across from mine

April 1 of this year marked the twelfth year Jim Tunnell has lived on the road, travelling in his RV from the Mississippi River to the West Coast, from Canada to Mexico, criscrossing the expansive West. Visiting with him in his booth was probably the closest I will ever get to experiencing an extended conversation with Jack Kerouac. Jim is a photographer working on the publication of his first book. The website posted below will provide information for anyone wishing to know how to purchase that work, or any of his other pieces.

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I enjoyed the freshness and vitality of Jim’s stories of life on the road just as much as I have enjoyed those extended times visiting wih my other mendicant friend Dave Shultz who is probably traversing and photographing New Mexico as I write this.

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Photograph by Dave Shultz

And my former art history student, Katie Dillow, now a museum curator, is exploring national parks in Utah and posting her photos and memories online.

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Photograph by Katie Dillow

As I think over what my fellow creative spirits are accomplishing in their travels, I myself am now laying out plans to do some exploring as well, hoping to capture some of that splendor on paper with watercolors and the printed word.

Thanks for reading.

I paint in order to capture the Glory.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not alone.

 

A Second Prototype for Greeting Cards

October 24, 2017

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All Aboard! 

Heads turn and hearts stir every time the whistle blasts from this Palestine-to-Rusk excursion train. The Texas State Railroad #30 is a Baldwin 2-8-2 that celebrated its birthday in October 2017, looking just as fresh and new as it did the first time it pulled onto the tracks. The wheel arrangement is called Mikado, named after a group of Japanese locomotives designed by Baldwin for the Nippon Railway in 1897. The four-hour round trip odyssey through the east Texas piney woods makes this train a popular favorite among rail fans and excited children.

 David M. Tripp                                 (817) 821-8702

http://www.recollections54.com                                           https://davidtripp.wordpress.com

The morning started out with a bang.  Dave Shultz, a remarkable photographer whom I recently met, is residing at the Historic Redlands Inn and spent time with me in the gallery over the weekend. I’ve known of his work for months, and admired what he’s done for the Redlands website as well as his photographs of sites he visits as he travels the world. I awoke at 6:00 and found the greeting card I posted on this blog last night, formatted and ready for the printer. Before 8:00, he also formatted the card that I’m posting above and prepared another of my train watercolors for limited edition prints.  And then . . . I suddenly received orders for three more coffee mugs (I’m selling them for $15).

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When I dropped off my cleaning at Boss Cleaners, the proprietor offered to sell my greeting cards from her counter as well. I’ve been selling these cards, printed on Hallmark Card stock with envelopes in a plastic sleeve, for $5 each or 5 for $20. I’m out of breath at all these new developments, and it isn’t even 9 a.m. yet!

I’ll be selling my work next at the Genny Wood Show in Bullard, Texas on Saturday November 4.

When you get the chance, check out these amazing photographs by Dave Shultz. His work takes my breath away. http://www.daveshots.com/

Dave has recently added The Gallery at Redlands to the website of the Redlands Historic Inn. http://redlandshistoricinn.com/

Thank you, Dave, for your friendship and inspiration.

And thanks all of you for reading.

I paint in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself that I am not alone.