Her Special Day; His Proclamation of Love, With Chivalry

Her special day She was an efficient list maker. And even if she hadn't been, this was one list she had been making in her head since she was a little girl playing with Barbie. She had everything she needed on this list, everything, that is, except her name and phone number. Because if she had had them there on that long and detailed list, her last-minute wedding plans would have gone more smoothly.

We found it somewhere on Main Street, dirt stained and scattered with rain drops. Someone's boot had left a big print on it, adding to its charm for a mixed-media artist, but making some of the hand-writing hard to read.

She had already ordered the cake and out down a $50 deposit. It must have been a big cake, because she still owed $350. Folded up with the list was an online offering for a groomsman's flower. It wasn't evident whether she had already ordered it. The photographer was chosen, and a phone number was listed.

Chairs were arranged, as well as a canopy, so probably she was getting married in someone's backyard. Or maybe the reception was outside.

These are just a few of the details on the two pages, double sided, that she had put together for the most important day of her life. Someone else helped her out by throwing away the heart shaped candy box that became the frame for this tribute to her wedding. Nice, antique looking lace was also given for the cause. Together they helped us create a piece that we wish we could give her. After all, it belongs to her, as a part of that special day she has been planning for most of her life.

The heart beside it is simply designed, as well. It holds a love letter obviously written by a middle schooler, probably a boy. In it, he professes his love for his girlfriend. In a refreshing nod back to the Medieval days of chivalry, he promises to love her forever and to be with her to the end of time. But only if her parents approve.

This was one of the sweetest pieces we found, perhaps only outshone by PaPaw's dollar. It is rare to see anything handwritten by youngsters these days, so a handwritten love note, instead a misspelled sentence or two on Facebook or in a text is something to treasure forever, this, too, is something we would love to return to its rightful owner, just a little improved, but left in its original form.

PaPaw's Dollar

PaPaw's Dollar He must have been just getting to that stage, Nolan, when a kid learns to understand paper money and moves on from change. PaPaw gave him a dollar bill, perhaps for a special occasion. To make it even more special, he wrote on it, " To Nolan. Love, PaPaw." I still remember when we found it. "Ah, look," Alvin said. "Nolan lost his dollar." Remembering losing things as a little child, and remembering when our children lost a favorite toy or a newly received gift, we felt Nolan's pain. We imagined PaPaw saying, "Now, don't lose it, Nolan. You're too big a boy." And we imagined Nolan not wanting to tell anyone. PaPaw's dollar was one of the early pieces we created in our minds. Later we found some PaPaw's hankie, then a big blue bandana. They just went together. We knew they demanded a simple treatment, something that wouldn't take away from the message. So we made a faux board, something PaPaw might have had laying around his barn, and hung them there. They're only put together with a head pin. So if we find Nolan, or his PaPaw, it will be easy to take apart. We hope Nolan was able to spend that dollar before it was lost. But if he didn't, it is still in spendable form.

What We Learned From What You Dropped and Lost on Main Street

Did you know there is a lovers lane right on Main Street in Morehead? There is, and if you come to our reading Thursday, you will find out where it is. If you've been on Main Street in the last seven years, chances are you've seen us walking; chances are you have dropped something; and chances are we have found it. If it had your name on it, chances are it is on the paper and cardboard quilt we made featuring 63 names. Titled "a Quilt By Any Other Name," it is 42 inches tall and about two feet wide. The binding is made from the silver lining paper from cigarette packs. This is just one of around 50 pieces -- photos and collage/mixed media -- in our exhibit, "Down On Main Street: Reclamation Art," currently at the Rowan County Arts Center and staying until July 31. And to complement the artworks, we are having a slide show of additional photos and a public reading Thursday, July 12, at 5 p.m., of what we learned doing this project. We have been walking the two-mile stretch of downtown Main Street Morehead for more than seven years, almost daily, in the sunshine and snow, at lunchtime and at night. We started picking up trash from the beginning, tossing it in the nearest garbage can. Pretty soon, we noticed that some things were lost instead of littered. Many were interesting; some we could return. The others we saved for art we would make some day. We made the art as we planned and in the process we learned a lot about our town. It is uniques to Morehead, but also speaks to the universal human condition. It tells us what is important to those of us who call this place home. It documents things that happen to us as we go about our daily lives. Come to the Rowan County Arts Center Thursday and let us share with you what we have learned from our collective trash. It will be humorous as well as informative.

How We Started The Walk That Ended In Art

When Alvin and I started walking in 2004, it had been 17 years since I had broken my neck. Chronic pain had turned into chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia and I wasn't able to walk even as far as a few blocks. But that year, I found a pain medication which changed all that. One evening, we walked from the Board of Education where our daughter was at play practice down to ADUC so Alvin could show me some flowers. We walked on to the Old Courthouse for more flowers, then on over across the bridge toward City Park. That's when I realized what I had done: I had walked farther than I had in years without landing in bed the next day. I went home resigned to a few days of excruciating pain and misery -- and the household chaos that comes from missed chores plus two kids. But the next day, something strange happened: I got up. I was hurting, but was not too fatigued to raise my head off the pillows. That evening, we took another walk. Again we walked slowly and stopped frequently to look at flowers and rest. The next day, we did it again. For the first few weeks, I could only walk five minutes before I had to stop. But I kept at it, ever so slowly, and by the middle of July I could make it from the Old Courthouse to Wendy's and then back, then all the way down to Family Dollar and back again to the Old Courthouse. So that became our ritual walk. Almost every day, after supper or at lunch time. By fall, I had become stronger. Muscles were emerging in my calves, seeing the light of day for the first time in years. Walking that street was healing my body. I was very busy homeschooling then, and Alvin and I didn't have much time to just talk. So our walks became our time to talk, as well. Realizing that our children would soon be grown and gone, we talked about what we wanted to do in that next stage of our life. We started out together working side by side at a newspaper and had shared several offices over ten years. We knew we wanted to keep working as a team when our parenting job was complete. So we bounced around ideas for writing and other projects to do together until Alvin's retirement when we could head off into a new sunset. As we were picking up interesting archeological finds, our current project of reclamation art was taking shape a bit at a time. Ironically, we hadn't even considered moving into art in the early days of our walking Main Street. But one day, Alvin said, "We have to save this and make art out of it someday," and I joined in, spinning stories of how this piece of trash fit with that one. Eventually it was a plan, then a grant proposal. By the beginning of 2005, we were walking 2 1/2 miles a day and my dad, who had come to live in Morehead, was diagnosed with lung cancer. On Valentine's Day, he went into the hospital, never to come home again. Alvin stayed most nights with Dad, then went to work. I stayed there a lot of time during the day. During lunchtime, a friend stayed with Dad and Alvin and I walked. It was our time to decompress, to figure out what to do next, to discuss what changes in care were needed, to cry. Later, it would be our time to grieve. Since then, our walks have served many purposes. Exercise. Talk therapy. Nature appreciation. Worship. And art. We have had so much fun finding objects to turn into art. We have made up stories about the people whose names were on the papers we collected. We have sifted through our findings and come to conclusions about what it means to be part of this town and this main street. We made art. And we kept walking.

Finally . . . . Our trash has been transformed into art

After seven years of walking up and down Main Street, from one end to the other, almost every day, in temperatures from 10 below zero to more than 100, picking up bits and pieces of this and that, we are finally having our exhibit of the art we made from this flotsam and jetsom. And fittingly, this exhibit will be on Main Street at the Rowan County Arts Center. Next Friday from 6-8 pm, we will have the opening reception for "Down on Main Street: Reclamation Art." Including mixed-media pieces made by the two of us, Fannie and Alvin, and photography by our daughter Ari Gibson, the exhibit will last throughout the month of July. On Thursday, July 13, from 6-7 pm, we will also have a reading of "What We Learned From What You Dropped and Lost." In these pieces, some humorous and some serious, we will share with you such things as the most frequently found objects; where on Main Street is a lover's lane; what pieces of a lady's clothing we found quite often (but didn't pick up); a list other things we didn't pick up; the drink of choice in town, at least among those who intentionally or accidentally dropped the lids; and how walking Main Street and picking up the detritus was healing, both physically and emotionally, for both of us. This project has been a labor of love. Initially we just meant to pick up trash. But as we looked at what we found, we relized that each piece told a small piece of Morerhead's story. We both started adult life as newspaper reporters, and although we went on to other careers, we never lost our nose for news. Telling our town's story just came naturally for us and we interpreted things as we found them, enjoying telling each other what this or that meant about this place and time. We saved some things, like a list of things-to-do for a wedding, a dollar bill from Papaw to Nathan, and a ripped-up love letter thrown out with a ripped-up heart and a bunch of broken CDs. "Someday we will make some kind of art out of this," we said, having no idea what that meant. When we had a few boxes full of these archeological finds, we knew we had to learn how to make art. Since we had done collage art when we first got together in 1978, we decided to find out how that art form had changed in the intervening 30-plus years and update our skills. Fast-forward a few years and we have an art exhibit! When we learned about the Fuse the Muse grants, we teamed up with our daughter, Arielle, who is a photographer, and wrote a proposal. We were awarded a grant. She has done photos of Main Street. These, our collages and 3-D pieces, and some guest paintings and photos will be hung July 6 through 31. Come eat, view and listen. . . And learn some things you may not know about Morehead, Kentucky.