It begins with all the trees in the grove and culled down
to all the best trees and narrowed further to only the straightest
grade from the heart of the tree and these, these genetically favored
applicants finding their way to the mill and from this a hand-picked
selection destined for the CPW shops scattered across the country
to arrive as the purest and truest planks waiting expectantly in
the wood bins for those glorious few days of undivided attention.
They become close, naturally, the expectant planks and the craftsman. Slowly
revealing the eventual form and design of their everlasting appearance
and perhaps, from the Craftsman, a few words regarding the Gate's
new owners and a few words about the Gate's ultimate destination
("On Fifth Avenue there will be many passersby in the latest
fashions admiring your beauty and poise. I promise, you will be the
center of everyone's attention").The Gate grows conditioned
to the sound of his voice, the sound of an Artisan singing his favorite
arias or laughing at his own little jokes as the various parts and
extremities to the work are formed and joined and with each passing
hour the developing Gate can take measure of her looks and general
appeal with a growing pride and at this juncture, nearly always,
the blossoming Gate begins to take a keen interest in her new owners
with the endless questions such as "What color is the sky in
North Carolina? Or, "Will there be children in Vermont?"But
of course there arrives the day when our Gate has come of age and
the time in the shop is finished, accompanied by that clinging apprehension
of an awaiting delivery and a long truck ride and into a wide world
far beyond the known world. And, like all sublime beauties, there
are those who need a little reassurance, a little quality time by
the pool out behind the shop where the Artisan might read aloud a
passage from Charlotte's Web, or a limmerick from Ogden Nash.
But of course the Craftsman's mind is already gravitating to those
untouched planks awaiting their turn in the shop, waiting for their
own turn to the personified promises of a proper home in a proper
neighborhood with the kindest patrons showering their love.But she
knows nothing of this. She knows, at this juncture, out by the pool,
nothing beyond the tenor of her Craftsman's voice tumbling over the
passages like a reasurring, mellifluous prayer. |
-It
was our patron's request to create a forum, or showcase,
for seasonal art. 