Second Day: At The Exhibit

Our second day travelling was a bit hectic, having to make up for lost time. No quiet recovery time before the exhibit... Getting lost and having to resort to directions via my I-phone...

The exhibit was a mixture of exciting and extraordinary and overwhelming to already stressed nerves. Music was live and amplified to the point of assaulting, at least to me. Our father, Walter Anderson, was much honored. A painting blown up on the outer wall of the Dasher museum. Daddy's humming birds... And several of his water colors in the very first gallery. People seemed to love them. They were certainly a far cry from the other pieces exhibited. Five hundred Southern artists were represented, and very contemporary was the majority. Often political and controversial. Racism was a powerful and necessary theme. Walker Evans's  Photographs were amazing. And I include an extra of the installation that moved me most. This artist was so quietly and powerfully present as she slowly unraveled the confederate flag. A gentle activist whose action was having the affect of a whirlwind. The room became packed with those who wanted to join her or to simply witness wholeheartedly. Sonya Clark is the artist. (Very worthwhile looking her up. I found her on wfae.org)

I enclose a photo of a very tired Leif in front of a few of Daddy's paintings, and another of Johnny and the lovely artist in front of one of the works. By that time I was getting beyond my limit: sciatica etc. so I got a little intrusive with my camera, just to get my brother's attention. He really was having a marvelous time, and he wasn't quite ready to leave it for the motel and the restful quiet I craved. So he found me a place to sit as far from the band as possible, and there I met Corinne. She turned immediately as I sat down and looked into my eyes. A kind of grateful melting occurred that I cannot explain. She brought me into a moment that was so imbued with love and easy affection that I almost forgot I was exhausted and longing to leave. She was young, the mother of two. The man she had come with was stretched out on the floor. But she and I experienced an island of trust, soulful and comforting; we embraced as though there was nothing at all strange about loving a stranger.

After that I was almost ready to dance, but now Johnny shepherded me out of the museum, and we managed to find our was back to the motel. Again the phone helped.