Perfect Bound Softcover
Print Type:

I got fired. I was the president of the firm. It was a family affair. It was really about the money. There was not enough to go around. Time was short. Death was in the air. I became an artist. Made corrugated cardboard birds, painted them with acrylic, and gave some away. One day I got a head cold. One learns that one can not stand at a workbench and make birds with a head cold. I sat down by the window and reviewed the literature. There, in the crux of the tree, were two squirrels copulating. I was embarrassed, but I was also fascinated. They seemed to know what they were doing. After a while they went away. Their image remained. We had a lot of squirrels at our bird feeder.

What was I to do to fulfill my life as an artist? I listened to the stillness of the hillside. Years ago I was struck with the image of a figure eight while sitting in a rocking chair and speculating on the nature of gravity. It was a glowing sensation that was wonderful. I made notes and went to my studio and painted, not a figure eight, but I feasted upon the experience. The next afternoon I approached my chair and the notes with a lover's anxiety only to find them cold.

I knew not where the passion went and I could not explain the image away. Now, I sat with this memory and the gravity of my situation. I started over with stick figures. In about fifteen years I had the figure eight and the story line to eternity in image form and it made perfect sense. I also recognized the classic images of the folks who had run this table before me. The greatest story ever told is understandable if one takes the time to get familiar with the basic transactions of mankind. When these are depicted using squares, circles and triangles they reveal memorable images which can be articulated.

The bold assertion that these images seem to know what they are doing sheds a new light on an old game. One can see noteworthy themes and argue the merits of the logos for overcoming inequality. With the knowledge of the part the principle piece plays in one's self-centeredness, a breakthrough, we pick out a tree as a vital partner. Our long term goal of atonement, in 1,000 years, has us plot a successful course requiring both utilization and sacrifice of the ideal figure eight for us to pass through the situation of our dire straits & claim our ticket to get on for eternity. I now knew how to fulfill my destiny as an artist.

The question of, 'Now, what are you going to do?' comes up when I tell of having turned the corner on my quest. I tell of getting it as in, this is how I see it & this is how I figure it works. The * it, is the point of it all. The coming together of disparate parts, of selected universal human experiences & how one would arrange in an artistic way this truth in time so as to be able to successfully account for an ongoing check every thousand years to eternity. This is & my say & I am poised to put it out to see what my peers will say in review.

Coincidence is the stuff of story, is the way I say, that synchronicity takes place but the form does not matter, the essence does. One has the experience. What one makes of this experience is subject to debate & we are all subject to editing. The wonder of it all can be daunting & one can lose their horseshoe. To know that others have found their shoe is both encouraging & disheartening. One searches in despair & in hope. The quest goes on despite diversity.

Having solved the question of finding it * out positions one at the threshold of eternity. The disparate straits face one again. Can I make it through, one more time?, comes to mind & the recognition of the experience of the previous successful completion of this eternal transaction gives one pause to consider this fact as being meaningful. It * can be vital to the outcome. One can experience this & articulate it & peers can review it & edit it to their satisfaction & make it useful. One's truth * matters.

Sunday night after supper the dog, Dolly, & I were going for a walk. My wife, Gloria, was on the phone with daughter, Gaelin, in California. It was dark & Dolly was out the door in a flash & onto the ground & after something growling & barking. I stepped down onto the porch with my flash light in the ready & when I got to the rail & shined the light down I saw them going around the big pine tree that had the grapevine wreath, bird seed feeder & had had my found horseshoe placed over a stub of a cut off limb. The horseshoe had disappeared some months ago & we could not find it. I speculated that someone may have taken it.

The growling & barking soon quieted as the raccoon with the dark right side made its climb up the shadblow tree where the suet basket was hung. Dolly & I made our walk. Gloria & Gaelin finished their talk & we all went to bed. In the morning when I went, with Dolly, for the morning paper there it was, my horseshoe. 'Mrs. Carr,' I hollered & she came to the door. 'What is it?', she said. 'My horseshoe', I said & pointed to the ground where they had gone around & around in the quarrel & chase of last night.

The winter solstice is at hand & things are looking up.

The author's parents divorced when he was young. Boyd Carr attended many schools, became adept at sports and did artwork for amusement. He became scholastically ineligible to compete in track while attending the engineering school of the University of Virginia and devoted his talent to graphic art. After graduating with a bachelor's degree in aeronautical engineering in 1957, he joined the Air Force and got married. After being honorably discharged, he became a corporate traveler for Blue Ridge Optical Co. After a period of tumult in his life, including a divorce, the death of his third child, the passing of his father and the loss of his job, he took up art full-time in 1980. Carr has since remarried.


Buy This Book (Price in USD)
Perfect Bound Softcover
Price $9.34
Share Print E-mail
facebook   twitter   Website