Free Tacos and Connection
Just two old dawgs being old dawgs sitting in an old gazebo.
After two very busy days and nights apart, Mike Ditka the dog and I were finally able to go on a walk. We headed out at mid-morning after the Saturday tasks were done but before the forecasted storms were to roll in. The air was thick and soupy. There was an abundance of estate sales, and it seemed the city’s entire population was haphazardly abandoning their vehicles and rushing in to strange homes. These were not ideal walking conditions. That is when we spotted the tattered gazebo in the soccer field next to the old community center. We ended up sitting there for a very long time. We didn’t talk a lot. We watched the sky. We watched the leaves dance as they were pushed by wind and pulled by gravity. We just sat, and we were silently thankful for each other’s company. It was not what we set out to do. It was not on our to-do lists. It was not a goal we shared. If when we prepared to leave our home we knew this is how we would spend our time, we wouldn’t have gone. I am thankful we didn’t know.
The night before was beautiful. Fulmer Sill, an innovative law firm, celebrated its tenth year in its fantastic location on Automobile Alley, an avenue of historic brick buildings that lead to the heart of downtown Oklahoma City. Two months earlier Steve from Prairie Fine Arts Services asked if I would be interested in exhibiting artwork at the location. I said yes knowing I would need to create a new body of work. Just days earlier the city had lost an advocate for the arts and animals. Like many in our community, I had also lost a friend and inspirational supporter. I spent the next six weeks creating a body of work that represented how OKC feels through the filter of memory and daydream. It was a way to continue a body of work that was first instigated 16 years earlier by my friend, the animal advocate and arts supporter. I walked countless blocks taking photographs of districts, parks, landmarks, tire shops, and taqueria trucks. I sketched maps. I planned what locations I would want represented in the exhibit and how much would need to be completed each day. I worked with a structured practice that I hadn’t demonstrated in years. Finally on that Friday night as the law firm celebrated their anniversary, I was able to share the 47 paintings.
The thing about painting is that it is an extremely solitary practice. You are essentially in your own head making, erasing, and remaking a vision that is yours alone. Even when people are around, you are so busy world-building that you are not truly present in the moment. This virtual isolation gives you a lot of time to think, possibly too much. Thoughts dance between memories, daydreams, and conjecture.
When it came time for the paintings to no longer be mine but to become something shared, I thought I would be filled with anxiety. That is typically something that I am filled with, but it wasn’t that evening. I became filled with something else— gratitude. I realized that what was important to me was the process and what it nurtured. During the creation of the work, I formed and strengthened friendships. I learned a lot about about the places I was painting. Heck, at one point I was even given free tacos from the man at the taqueria truck. How many times in our lives will that happen! Even during the solitude of painting, I began to learn to quiet my mind. I discovered some really annoying ways that I hold myself accountable, and I began to wonder how they affect other people. At the reception, I was reminded just how beautiful and supportive my friends are. I relearned that it is fun meeting new people. As the founder and CEO of the law firm welcomed guests and recognized the law team for their decade of accomplishments, I saw the dedication and effort that she put forth not just for a business or an ideal but for a group of people. She powerfully illustrated that ultimately it is our connections that will matter. I thought about the work again. I thought about how Steve approached me and how the artworks came about. I thought about the friend who inspired the works so long ago. I looked across the office, and I saw people sharing the moment completely and in remarkable silence. I thought about the locations that were painted. I realized that it all matters. It is our connection to each other, shared memories, and our stories that matter. Ultimately we are here to matter to each other.
Clint Stone speaking at Fulmer Sill in front of Michi Susan artwork. Photography by Prairie Fine Arts Services
As Mike Ditka and I sat watching the falling leaves, I gave him a little nudge. In that moment, and still as I write this, I am thankful for the opportunity to create the work, Steve believing that it was the right art for this event, and Fulmer Sill for welcoming me in. I am thankful for everyone I got to see and talk to at the reception. I am thankful for what I learned along the way. I am thankful for my partner making the adventure possible. I am thankful that I know without a doubt that what matters cannot be counted, but it also cannot be denied. It can be easy to shield yourself in worry or try vigilantly to be prepared for anything. There can be strange comfort in doing both of those things, but it will be more rewarding to be open to connection.
This morning I texted a friend. Last night tornados, high winds, and rain ravaged nearby areas. Upon daylight, news stations and social media users were quick to share photos of the destruction. Throughout the day folks stayed alert to the weather. Countless texts were exchanged. Churches and businesses opened their doors and provided water, coffee, restrooms, and hot meals if they could. What was shared most today was concern for each other, comfort to those experiencing hardship, and connection —because we all need it.
Title wall and DWNTWN OKC 1719 at Fulmer Sill. Photography by Prairie Fine Arts Services