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"Teller of Life’ as I Now Live Wood" --by RusticWoodArt #8: "Stories of Wood That Yearn"

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Blog entry by frank posted 2443 days ago 634 reads 0 times favorited 2 comments Add to Favorites Watch
« Part 7: Wood Scripts From Dark Wood Part 8 of "Teller of Life’ as I Now Live Wood" --by RusticWoodArt series Part 9: "The Passion of Wood" »

Stories of Wood That Yearn

”....tis in the sliding of the barn door’s opening, that the eye of man meets those other’s, who have heard the news, that often what is sold as wood, be-comes the more of what is worked as art....”

Often now the mornings are getting colder and so I find myself coming out here earlier to start the fire in the belly of my beast, as I prepare the tools that the ‘old timer’ will be using today. Tools come in many forms shapes and sizes, but one that the old timer desires most at the start of each day, is a heady broth of tea….and so I prepare the leaves. Seconds fly by as moments of movement are what is heard, as I climb the ladder that leads me up to the second floor of the barn. This is where I will spend some time, so as to reap more silence, in the stillness of this early morning hour. My silence is silenced by the screaming remembering of all that must be done, as if what I seek to have with peace, will be soon enough swallowed up in the activity of what I must yet do. Mind screams, are what I have taken to calling this interruption of what I would have with silence and this morning I find myself ‘working harder to still my mind’....

....working harder to ‘still’ my my mind,
working harder to ‘steal’ my mind,
working harder to ‘steel’ my mind,
working harder to ‘still’ my mind,

—-’my’ still….’harder’ steel….’working to’ steal….’mind’ still—-

“In the essence of time, all wood knows the vibrant coursing of life, that comes from being subjected to the elements of changing seasons, wherein lies the essential ingredients that make up their character. That’s the impartation factor of trees to our environment and the fruits of wood they bring”; the old timer was telling me on one of his more verbal expressions with words.

We were out on the northern slope of a mountain up in the White Mountains of NH gathering firewood for an overnight campsite, after coming back from where we had been collecting some unique photos of hardwood burls. That was yesterday and two days previous, so that we have been out for six days now. One more day and we will be back at the parking lot, where my truck was parked….and that was unless the weather caught us and laid us in.

—-’my’ still….’harder’ steel….’working to’ steal….’mind’ still—-

And so the memories come just as that one did, flooding my mind and bringing with them the remembered stories of what has been, from my fruit-full library of verbal flowered images, that opens my way to the possibility of all that is. I have been pushing my-self harder as of late on a piece of wood sculpture that towers above me, three maple legs coming to-gather as one further up above my form. Pushing harder I have to laugh at myself now, since late yesterday evening, the hours on my knees gave in and then came the pain of creaky bones. Not being able to rise up, I finally just laid down on the barn floor and fell asleep between those maple legs….

....drifting back in time, i saw myself as separate from the form i left on the floor and yet there was the other part of me, watching from up above in the rafters of old barn timbers. Only seconds, but an eternity of eons passed by, as i saw the image within the free-form of sculpture and that was when i heard the wood singing a song that came deep from within the bowels of eternity past….back from the before of beginning and such was the sound that once again i remembered an era of long ago….

Back before eternity was young and time was created to give a place for those coming here to earth to have a place of birth, whereby creating limitations for their flesh….there were trees of wood. Trees of eternity, trees of life, cosmic trees….these are the one’s who first gave us our taste of furniture and sculpture. These are the one’s who bridged the gulf of heaven and earth, with their branches that told the tales of holding universe’s in the grips of their leaves. The laughter of the gods can often be heard in the climatic moments when oaken branches scrap the clouds, sending ripples of laughter cascading across the heavens, where the fabric of what is unseen, is for a moment rent and and man has a chance to catch a vision of who he is.

....so it is that here i am now, caught in a impression of wood grained solitude, never able to turn the edge from which i gouge upon, and much less can there be any fathomed desire to seek after mine own encrypted image….

Slowly I hear the crunching of snow that means the old timer is making his way up the sloped path to the entrance of the barn. And then the door is rolled open and closed just as fast, while in one seemingly act of motion. “Today is a good day to start working on the curly maple top, and we shall joint it with those cupped oaken slats we cut out four years ago. I’m going to show you how to do a ‘jugi-mechigal-tsugi’, which will become part of the apron to legs and top….” as though talking to himself, but knowing already that I’m listening with ever increasing excitement. Having studied this one as a form of wood joinery is nothing compared to seeing the image pared out in a piece of wood.

Once again the old timer sat down and mixed his leaves for the art-full start, of a tea ceremony. So much time has passed me by and soon my days shall be likened to the fallen leaves of fall….so much yet to do and can this one who now works at my side, be the one to carry on the stories of wood that yearn to be told….

....wind swept barren work-places,
shoveling out multi-tasked proletariat’s,
waiting on the end of an-other days light,
as i peek into the shadows that surround them….

—-these are the dreams of giants,
culled from the granite head-stones,
of the caves they in-habit,
waiting on the to-morrows of future escape….

—-candle-lights fueled by the fatted sweat of imagination,
breaking forth with shimmering’s of glimmering hope,
written on the walls of caves within,
kicking gestations of parturiency scampering into the forest of wood-scapes
….

....with that thought held tightly in his mind like vise grip,
the old timer brought himself back to the day’s work-force,
and as he raised himself from off his knees with creaking fore-sight,
he gave thanks that yes this one would in-deed work out just fine….
—to be continued in time….by flp

Maple wood floors and the woody wood tales they tell….

....and then it started to snow last evening….

....I could not help but post these following photos….

....as I was able to capture the spirit of my breath….

....by exhaling at the same time….

....while clicking, as I was standing at the back door-way of the garage….

....and then when one has posted their line on the wood, which side of the line shall I cut from or maybe….

....one should just cut straight on the line….

Thank you.
GODSPEED,
Frank
RusticWoodArt

rusticwoodman@gmail.com
http://frank.wordpress.com/


”....work smart, work safe, and live, to work the wood….”

-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/



2 comments so far

View RobS's profile

RobS

1334 posts in 2933 days


#1 posted 2442 days ago

What can I say but breath-taking and yet, breath-giving, all at the same time. Well told, teller.

-- Rob (A) Waxahachie,TX

View MsDebbieP's profile

MsDebbieP

18615 posts in 2787 days


#2 posted 2440 days ago

you are a storyteller through your words and your photos.
Great shots!! My nose hairs are freezing, just thinking about how cold it was!

-- ~ Debbie, Canada (https://www.facebook.com/DebbiePribeleENJOConsultant)

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