Imagine That
Some Memories and Hopes about Art
As a wee lad, I developed a passion for drawing, particularly superhero comics. I often collaborated with my cousins, Ed and Berlin, to invent characters, craft storylines, and bring our creations to life through artwork. Growing up in a remote area of the Southern countryside, art, and reading became my gateway to embark on imaginative journeys to far-off lands, partake in thrilling adventures, and explore the boundless realms of history, fantasy, and folklore. Materials were not readily available or possible to procure. My Aunt Eva sold eggs and vegetables to make ends meet. Buying a pen, India ink, and Windsor and Newton 140 lb. cold press paper would have been a ridiculous dream. So we made do. “With what?” I will tell you: telephone books (another remnant in cobwebs stacked in storage in a box marked “Twentieth-century Stuff”). They were perfect. The type was so small that it didn’t interfere with the larger drawing (in fact, it provided a sort of grey background “wash” that could be manipulated for a reverse effect with, e.g., white chalk). While not the New York City phone book, if you could get your hands on a Watson-Walker-Denham Springs Bell South directory, you could make plenty of comic books. Just bring imagination (and some careful study of the art of Jack Kirby and Gene Colan and the writing of Stan Lee).
I have come to a place where I can afford more suitable art materials. And we are not isolated. But Ed is in heaven, Berlin in Louisiana, and I’m in the mountains of North Carolina. My only isolation is my physical limitation. So, I am back to drawing out of my imagination. My wife gave me an easel for painting en plein air, but I have yet to use it. Going out for such an excursion is just a bit difficult now. But I haven’t given up hope. Until then, I can at least go there in my mind. That was the case tonight, as I imagined going down the Cape Fear River. The drawing—a graphite foundation with pastel and ink—depicts my dream of canoeing down the legendary Cape Fear River. I thought about what it would be like to follow in the wake of Captain William Hilton Jr. (1617-1675), an English Merchant Navy officer and explorer (Hilton Head Island bears his name) who, in 1662, made the most thorough documentation of the now-famous waterway. The trip would involve a 202-mile journey from the upper Piedmont region of North Carolina (the confluence of the Deep River and the Haw River) to the mouth of the Atlantic between Oak Island and Bald Head Island. Of course, by the time I reached the Port of Wilmington, I would have to deftly pilot my humble vessel between great oil tankers and past the WWII beauty, the USS North Carolina (and a very active Coast Guard station). Well, that will likely never happen. But with a bit of imagination and some mark-making, I can create an adventure worthy of my boyhood dreams.
Materials were not readily available or possible to procure. My Aunt Eva sold eggs and vegetables to make ends meet. Buying a pen, India ink, and Windsor and Newton 140 lb. cold press paper would have been a ridiculous dream. So we made do. With that? I tell you: telephone books (another remnant from the twentieth century). They were perfect.
Here is the description of “First Voyage. The Cape River Passage:”
This graphite drawing captures the essence of a dream-like exploration down North Carolina’s Cape Fear River, flowing towards Wilmington and Southport. The artwork places a solitary kayaker at the center of an epic journey, purposefully diminished against the expansive wilderness that flanks the riverbanks and the vastness of the sky above. The bridge in the distance serves as a gateway to further adventures, symbolizing both connection and transition. The careful play of scale evokes a sense of awe and the timeless allure of uncharted territories, reflecting the kayak’s silent glide as both a humble and a daring pursuit.
That’s it. Put some marks on a piece of paper, upload a photo of the work to the online gallery, and the magic happens. And I never leave my chair. Usually, my wife watches Vera or Poirot, and I finish up about the time the show is over. She can’t understand why I am so tired. But a two-hundred-mile boat trip down the Cape Fear is not for the faint-o’-heart!
We warmly invite you to take a gander at our humble online gallery. There are several options if you want a piece for your home or office. But I am just as pleased if you take a leisurely tour. It costs nothing, but if it brings a sense of serenity or even stirs your imaginative adventures, I shall be greatly rewarded indeed. Art is not a commodity to be sold on the auction block but a gift to be given in the hope of crossing an invisible threshold into the creative visioning of another: “I wonder what she will see in it?” Or “I wonder if he feels the same way I did when I saw that expansive field and the old barn in the blue distance?” There is the joy. When the artist can make a living doing so (which I do not have to do, mercifully, for once I was, literally, a “starving artist”), well, that is just lagniappe. And all that is to close this little reflective note by saying that I have had as much fun thinking about drawing comic book stories in telephone books as in painting with the most expensive oils.
Imagine that.
The Lord bless you and keep you.
Art is not a commodity to be sold on the auction block but a gift to be given in the hope of crossing an invisible threshold into the creative visioning of another: “I wonder what she will see in it?” Or “I wonder if he feels the same way I did when I saw that expansive field and the old barn in the blue distance?” There is the joy.