Reflections - Hidden Art

Zen Sculpture

Every summer, nature’s landscapes wow me. I ‘ooh’ at morning mists veiling the woods. I ‘aah’ at summer-green trees scraping the chicory-blue sky midday. I gasp at marigold orange and hyacinth pink streaking evening clouds.

This summer’s landscape brought hidden art.

Walking along West Creek Road one May morning, Spence and I discovered the first sculpture.

The gurgling of Porter’s Creek through the culvert drew our gaze to the endwall. Atop it, a guest at Porter’s vacation cabin had stacked five creek rocks. Under the shade of towering oaks and maples, the sandy gray sculpture defied gravity and resembled a meditating Buddha.

As summer progressed, the rock figure, like aging folks, compacted. Wind and torrential rains knocked the top rock off. I slid it under Buddha’s ribs to give him more support. Nature decorated his cement pedestal with ripe chokecherries and tawny oak leaves.

Spence added a husked hickory nut at Buddha’s feet. I suspected a squirrel might snatch the nut and knock the statue over, but the Zen statue still stands with the hickory nut tickling its toes.

Rocks balancing

Grays blending

Serene 

On another walk, Spence found the second hidden sculpture. He called from behind me. “Did you see? More art.”

Aluminum Can Art

I hadn’t. I’d strode past determined to reach the Creek Road bridge and gape at water skimmers making concentric circles on Deer Creek. Retracing my steps, I followed Spence’s outstretched arm with my eyes to a huge maple tree. “Huh?”

“The cans.” He waved his hand at a scrub hawthorn that grew beside the maple.

One of the hawthorn’s thins stems had leaves. The other had died. In the angles, formed by lifeless twigs branching away from the dead stem, nestled six crumpled aluminum cans.

A week later, I carried paper and pen to jot down the kind of cans to determine what the artist—I assigned the sculpture to the Porter’s creative guest—had drunk. From top to bottom: Twisted Tea, two Coors Light, Pepsi, Coors Light, and Bud light. Seven cans? No one had been at Porter’s cabin since Spence spotted the sculpture. And I recognized the brands as the kind of cans that neighbors regularly tossed out of their pickups along our road. Did another artist roam our dirt roads? Maybe a neighbor added to the guest’s sculpture. An eighth can, an additional Coors Light, appeared below the Pepsi this past week. Whether one, two, or three artists worked on the sculpture, the hidden art made clever use of litter.

Aluminum glittering

Can grouping

Dramatic 

No mystery surrounded the identity of the third artist.

Gray Squirrel

Last week, Spence clutched the bedroom door frame. “Stop what you’re doing.” He nodded his head toward the front of the house. “Come. You’ve got to see this.”

I’d only written a fourth of my morning journal but dropped the pen and pushed the desk chair back. Expecting to see our three cats in a new game of batting an onion or whatnot around the great room, I followed Spence down the hall.

No new cat game.

Rills sat on the log hewn table and stared out the great room window to the porch. Gilbert perched on the sill of the kitchen-porch window and stared too. Ande crouched by the front door and, listening to a faint gnawing sound, twitched his ears.

Spence pointed to the front door window. “Look down.”

Below, a gray squirrel gnawed the end of a board in a recycled pallet Spence stacked firewood on.

I recognized the critter. When I finish morning yoga on the deck and tote my gear to the porch, I interrupt this squirrel, at work gnawing the bottom of my mother-in-law’s old wooden milk box. The squirrel produces ugly scrapes but hasn’t gotten inside to build a nest—yet. At my appearance, it scampers to the edge of the porch, dives twenty feet to the ground, and dashes under the evergreen stand.

This time, the squirrel didn’t dig for a nesting spot. It wore down its ever-growing teeth.

Oblivious to the feline and human gawkers inside, the squirrel curled its tail over its body and gnawed at the two-by-six board. I took half a dozen photos before it raised its head, stared at the audience, and scurried out of sight.

Stepping outside, I stooped to examine what the squirrel had done.

It had notched a fringe-like pattern on top of the board. The gray squirrel even followed tree rings to carve the end.

Grain enhancing

Wood etching

Serendipitous

Every season I enjoy nature’s landscapes. I ‘ooh’ at purple ironweed and goldenrod lining dirt roads through russet-tinged trees. I ‘aah’ at ice crystals dangling from tree roots jutting over white tipped ripples in Deer Creek. I gasp at daffodil trumpets waving over greening grass speckled with pink spring beauties. But from now on, I’ll search for creations that a rural artist—whether walking on two, four, or more legs—has hidden.

Squirrel's Art