Loose Leaf Notes

~ The following was published in the Floyd Press on 7/3/08

“Not bad for someone with a bad ankle,” I said to my friend Ed, referring to the fact that I had danced for two hours to Laura Reed and Deep Pocket, in spite of a recent injury.

The Asheville-based band played to an enthusiastic crowd Friday night at the Winter Sun Hall. Concert goers filled the dance floor, spilling over onto the new porch deck to socialize and cool down.

I first heard Deep Pocket last summer at the Dome Fest Concert, held at a farm in Copper Hill. Impressed with the soulful outpouring of Reed’s vocal performance, I dubbed her the Janis Joplin of Reggae. She’s also been compared to Billie Holiday, Erykah Badu, and Aretha Franklin.

Reed, who plays harmonica and rhythm guitar, was born in South Africa and grew up in North Carolina. Although her original music has a reggae flavor, it fuses a variety of styles with the overarching theme being Soul. Her webpage bio reads:

Laura Reed is a nomadic soul, finding herself trans-planted trans-Atlantic from South Africa to the American South. She carried with her the quintessential African harmonies and musical colorings that she gathered as a child in Johannesburg and Natal. Growing up in North Carolina (Chatham County to be exact), she cultivated a deep appreciation for the American Blues, Jazz, Soul, and R&B that was circulating around her. She fused these stylings with her earliest musical memories, epiphanies, stories, and confessions.

With song titles that include Rise Up, Praise You, and One World, the band’s music not only inspires infectious dancing, it’s uplifting to listen to as well.

In the middle of the set, after a particularly rousing song, Reed took the turban-wrapped scarf off her head and unleashed her waist-length blond dreaded locks. “I really had to let down my hair for that one,” she said.

According the band’s webpage, other band members are Ben Didelot on bass, Jimbonk Buchanon on drums, Ryan Burns on organ, and Debrissa McKinney, who does back-up vocals. Emily Brass of Floyd’s Emily Brass Band opened for the band on Friday. Brass (far right) also jammed with Deep Pocket for a couple of numbers, playing her saxophone. ~ Colleen Redman

Post Notes: You can hear the music of Laura Reed and Deep Pocket and find information on their new CD "Soul: Music" at their website HERE. The band is scheduled to play at FloydFest,Thursday July 24th at 10:30 on the Hill Holler Stage. A short video clip on Deep Pocket on the Winter Sun stage can be found HERE. Another one taken while Emily was on stage is HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 6:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I wasn’t able to attend their concert at the Winter Sun Hall last night, but I did meet up with the Mamas today for some puppy petting at the Humane Society’s 6th annual “Stand up for Strays,” where I was taking photos for the Floyd Press. And Joe and I hooked them up for some down home pond swimming at Zephyr Farm before they headed back to Asheville. They were on their way to dive off the dock when I stopped them for this photo shoot. “It’s good enough to be your next album cover,” I said when I previewed the shot. Of course, they may have to cut some people out. Either that or hand them some instruments and teach them to play.

Post notes: The Barrel House Mamas music can be heard HERE. The quartet includes Molly Reed, Jane Kramer Edens, Eleanor Underhill, and Anna Baumann-Smith (my son Josh's girlfriend). My husband Joe (the only man pictured above) is not a Barrel House Mama. Check out Doug Thompson's photo's HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 12:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

It was like a scene out of Tom Wolfe’s book The Electric Koolaid Acid Test, like the filming of a Merry Prankster adventure. It was a “Vision Quest,” in the form of a film by local artist Starroot, premiered at the June Bug Center’s Black Box Theater last night.

Filmed and directed by Cameron Nelson, the movie combined a series of paintings Starroot did for her daughter with music that she and her Galactic Band recorded during a live performance of the “Vision Quest Multi Media” show at Baylees in Blacksburg. Music from Starroot’s CD’s “Yellow Magnetic Sun” and “Red Cosmic Dragon," and Starroot reading her poetry were also part of the soundtrack. She and Cameron enlisted the help of friends to act out and “get into” the paintings. Darcy Marsh portrays Starroot’s daughter Johanna in the film.

A Vison Quest is a Native American rite of passage, traditionally taken just before puberty, which involves spending time alone in nature with the intention of discovering a new life direction. In the May Museletter (community newsletter), Starrroot announced the showing of the film and explained how her daughter, Johanna, asked for help with a Vision Quest when she was twenty years old. Johanna’s request inspired Starroot to paint a series of twenty paintings with a Vision Quest theme. About the film, she said, “We had lots of fun as we created a film with a surreal, beautiful feeling in a simple low tech production style.”

The movie was filmed last summer and fall in settings around Floyd County, many of which were familiar to some in the audience. The majority of the audience (which included a number of Merry Prankster artist types) didn’t know the film was being made before it was announced and were surprised that some of the actors were also recognizable to them.

When the credits rolled, I was shocked to see that even my name was included. Over ten years ago I was one of a group who participated in a jam session in Root’s studio. My friend Jayn, Root, and I played the Jew’s harp, which ended up on one of her CD’s and then in the Vision Quest movie. I haven’t played the Jew’s harp since.

At the question and answer period at the end of the film Root and Cameron explained how props were made and how scenes were filmed. Root introduced the actors who were present, calling them up on the stage.

Psychedelic, Cosmic, Galactic, Shamanic and Harmonic. Starroot’s art, music, and now her film draw from her study of the Mayan calendar, as interpreted by Jose Arguelles, Native American teacher, author, and founder of Planet Art. Starroot once co-hosted Arguelles to speak in Floyd.

Photo: Cameron Nelson and Starroot. Hear a Jew's Harp HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

AKA: Can we have a Word?

1. A Blog Quote Contest: Blogtations, a site that posts daily quotes taken from blogs, is hosting a Mother’s Day Quote Contest, of which I am one of the judges. The deadline to submit your best saying about Motherhood, taken from your blog, is May 2. The winner will be announced on May 9th and will receive a $25 Amazon gift certificate. Details are HERE. More about Blogtations and it's founder Jeannette HERE.

2. Poets on Stage a the Floyd Country Store: I and my fellow members of the Floyd Writers Circle will be swapping readings with members of the Southern Appalachian Writers Cooperative at the Floyd Country Store, Friday April 25 from 3:30 to 5 p.m. Visiting SAWC writers are in town for a reading at Radford University, celebrating the posthumous publication of the late Rita Riddle, who was an English professor at RU and a member of SAWC. The event is free and open to the public. I hear that the visiting writers are looking forward to attending the famed Friday Night Jamboree later that evening. More about the event from blogger Fred First, who is also a SAWC member is HERE. You can read about the Floyd Writers Circle HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 9:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Johanna is my son Josh’s peer, a Blue Mountain School alumni, Floyd High School salutatorian, a young German-born woman that many of us here in Floyd watched grow up. She’s getting married on the summer solstice.

Forgoing a wedding shower, or even the traditional Floyd Blessingway, she requested a Machitun, a shamanic drumming healing ceremony. The ceremony was brought back to Floyd after my friend Katherine, a ceremonialist, and other Floyd women traveled to Chili and learned it from the Mapuchi women shamans.

Burning sage wafted in the air, cultrun drums reverberated, and the shaking of rattle conversations opened the way for good visions to come.

Following the ceremony, we gathered around Johanna with big smiles on our faces to tell stories and give her our blessings.

“A jiggly jolly girl in pig tails with her head in a book and roller skates on her feet” was the way some of us remembered her. As a young girl she created miniature fairy worlds. Now she’s making the world a better place as an environmental organizer. Sipping from the chalice of fruity herbal liquor, we sealed our wishes for her and her partner, Nick.

Then we held court upstairs at a long dining room table. The wine flowed as we were treated to an Eastern Indian feast fit for Queens, Priestesses, and Machis, prepared and served lovingly by two of us. Gifts were presented and oohed over. Laughter and chatter filled the air.

Post note: Johanna’s mother, Starroot, is a well known Floyd visionary artist. You can check out her work HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 5:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

How strange is it that on the same day I posted a blog entry about my father, titled Sentimental Journey, I attended an event in the evening that was also called a Sentimental Journey? The emphasis on the second SentiMENTAL Journey was on the word MENTAL. It was a benefit concert at the Floyd Country Store to raise money for mental health awareness, headed up by Tommy Edwards, former Virginia Tech star football player who was once known as “Touchdown Tommy.” In between musical sets, one of which was his, Edwards talked to the crowd about his own experience with mental illness. He started the Heart of Virginia Foundation in response to the Virginia Tech shootings last April. You can read more about The Heart of Virginia on their webpage HERE.

Bernie Coveney, who I recently wrote about in a story for The Floyd Press HERE, is the one who prompted my husband and me to attend. Bernie’s latest band, Bernie Coveney with Natural Selection, was some of the music featured. The Natural Selection of this evening included (from left to right) Mike Mitchell, Abe Gorsky, Bernie, and Martin Scudder. There was a bass player playing behind Mike whose name I didn't catch. Here is a clip from the evening of them playing Bernie’s song, Cherry Wine. Other bands that played during the evening were No Strings Attached and Blue Mule.

Mike Mitchell performed two tear jerkers. One was John Prine’s song, Paradise, about the destruction of land by a coal mining company, which you can hear Mike sing HERE. The other was from his current CD, Thirteen Hours. Natural Selection also played a selection of songs from Bernie’s new CD, Whispering Pines. In between bands, raffle drawings, and silent auction prize giving, we had carrot cake and neighborly chats with friends in booths in the front of the store. I bought some penny candy but had to spit out the fireball because it was too hot.

Posted by Colleen at 9:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

The Following appeared in the regional newspaper insert “All About Her” in January 08.

Coriander Woodruff has been her own kind of musician since she was a toddler making drums from empty coffee cans.

When she was ten years old, she heard a segment on NPR radio about GarageBand, a software program that features a virtual soundboard for mixing and recording sound. She knew it was the next step in her music exploration. With GarageBand, Coriander could sample a variety of instruments, loop sequences, and synthesized sound to create her own musical collages in the comfort of her home.

Her father is a computer programmer and her mother is an artist. Her older brother leads a Floyd Ghost Tour with a theatrical flair, and another member of the Woodruff household is a musician. Considering Coriander’s background, it’s no wonder that by the time she was thirteen years old she had composed and produced two CD’s of electronica music.

“What was your party like?” I asked her. We were in the Black Water Loft, a café in downtown Floyd where the October release party for her second CD, Black Light Blue Frog, was held.

“There were plasma balls and lava lights,” she answered. She described how her father projected a light show onto the café wall. And what would electronica music, also known as house party music, be without a black light? There was one, she said.

In between sips of tea, Coriander’s mother, Pat Woodrufff, told me that the October 26th CD Release Party was also Coriander’s 13th Birthday Party. Coriander described how the black and white costume she wore to the party and in the photo on her newest CD cover came from a Halloween costume search. “I wanted to be an “optical illusion,”’ she said.

According to Coriander, her early music was “awful stuff that had me pulling out my hair.” In the first year working with GarageBand, she did a lot of “testing.” It took a year before she composed something she was proud of, a song from her first CD, Spirit Web, entitled Galaxy Seeker. More recently some of her music was featured in “Floyd Home Companion,” a parody of Garrison Keillor’s Radio Show, Prairie Home Companion, with a Floyd twist. The play was recently performed in Floyd by Coriander and other cast members of Floyd’s Young Actors Co-op.

As with her early coffee can drumming, Coriander has been using a computer since she was very young. She taught herself touch typing after being involved in an “adventure chat room” in which you had to type fast to keep up with the game. That kind of self-motivation is a thread that runs through her and her family’s life. As a homeschooler, Coriander’s curriculum is based on the learning that is inherent in pursuing her interests. Her parents encourage her hands-on learning style. Working with GarageBand puts music making in Coriander’s own hands. It also allows her family to avoid expense recording session fees.

We left the Black Water Loft and went to Coriander’s home, where she showed me her digital audio workstation and explained how she can find a sound to match the mood of a piece by searching under headings, such as Happy, Relaxing, or Dark. She can also overlay everyday sounds into her compositions. One of my personal favorite examples of this is in a song called “Please Turn Off Your Cell Phone,” in which she incorporates recorded phone sounds into a beat, everything from dial tone, to ‘if you would like to make a call, please hang up and try again,’ and her brother talking on the phone.

When I asked her if she was working on a new CD, she explained that she wanted to create music that would feel like the stars and the beginning of the universe. “It’s going to be hard, but I want to do it.” She added that making a CD takes a year or two because she can only work when she feels inspired.

At one time electronic music was a genre of its own, but these days many well known musicians incorporate it into their songs. The term “electronica” was first used in the early 1990’s to describe the rave movement and global-influenced dance music, but now it is also created for forefront and background listening. Also known as techno-music, electronica is a fusion of many types of music. It was once categorized with jazz and has been used heavily in New Age Music.

To those who think electronica music isn’t real music because it’s more about composing and mixing than it is about playing an instrument or singing, Coriander says, “If it effects you makes you happy, and moves you; it’s music. She promised me she’d invite me to her next CD Release Party. ~Colleen Redman

Note: Coriander Woodruff’s CD’s, Spirit Web and Black Light Blue Frog, are available at noteBooks in downtown Floyd. They can be purchased by mailing $10 plus $2 postage to Gryphon Studios, PO Box 190, Emporium, PA, 15834. You can visit www.myspace.com/musicCoriander to hear selections from her CD’s.

Posted by Colleen at 9:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

The following was published in The Floyd Press on January 24, 2008.

Bernie Coveney – who has played with Grammy award winner Emmylou Harris, contributed to the soundtrack of King of the Gypsies, and taught Robert Duval how to play guitar for his role in Tender Mercies – has just released a first CD of his own music.

One of the CD’s best reviews came from his neighbor’s mother who received a copy from her son for Christmas. “There’s no yelling. There’s no swearing. And the man plays from his heart,” she said, thanking her son for the gift.

Coveney’s music has been described as mix of gypsy, jazz, and bluegrass. When asked about the meaning of gypsy music, he explained it as a musical style, both emotional and ethnic, rooted in the folk tradition of roving tribal people. The CD, named Whispering Pines, is an instrumental collection of original old and new songs that reflect the inner and outer journeys of Coveney’s life story.

Born in Massachusetts and raised in New Jersey and New York, Coveney already had an impressive musical history when he and his wife Lucy came to Floyd in the mid 90’s to escape crowded city life. It was Lucy who first fell in love with Floyd, while Bernie wondered what he would do for work in a small rural town and worried that his life as a musician would suffer. He had no idea at the time that Floyd had an active and historical music scene.

It didn’t take him long to discover the Friday Night Jamboree and to feel like he had come full circle, back to some of his earliest roots in country music. When he met Jimmy DeHart, a prominent Floyd musician and jamboree mainstay, Coveney discovered an eerie connection to Floyd that had preceded his own arrival.

In the late 1970’s when Coveney was a single father of two, he sold his old Martin guitar to a collector because he needed the money. DeHart’s daughter later bought it in Ohio for her father. It was Coveney’s first time at the Country Store jamboree when he recognized the hole near the pick guard. It took a photo of Coveney with the guitar and a matched up serial number to fully convince DeHart (who has since passed away) that such an unlikely coincidence was indeed true.

The cover design of Whispering Pines is from a photograph by Doug Thomspon. The music was mixed and recorded at Martin Scudder’s Mountain Lighthouse Studio in Floyd. Scudder also plays electric violin on many of the songs. Other Floyd musicians who are well featured on the CD include acoustic violinist, Mike Mitchell, mandolinist, Abe Gorskey, and bassist Chris Luster. Luster’s bass accompanies Coveney’s guitar throughout the CD and is highlighted in a solo segment on a song titled “Coming Home.” Another song features the rise and fall and weaving together violins in a duo by Scudder and Mitchell. Gorskey’s mandolin adds a spirited up-beat to two of the selections.

The first song on the CD, Lucky Lou, was written for Lucy who died from cancer in 2002. It’s a playful song, composed soon after they had met. “I felt so lucky to have found her,” Coveney said.

The title song, Whispering Pines, named by Lucy and inspired by the pine trees that border Coveney’s Floyd property, opens with the sound of wind and the cry of a hawk.

“BJ’s Rag,” the shortest song in the collection bears the name of Coveney’s vanity license plate and was written when his first son, BJ, was born. “The fretting reminds me of tickling a baby,” Coveney writes in the liner notes.

“Still I Wonder” was inspired by a Virginia setting where Trappists Monks once meditated. It includes the only vocals on the recording. The ethereal voices of Dorian Dugger and Kari Kovick add a sense of mystery to the penetrating melody.

“En La Frontera” is a border song written when Bernie lived in San Antonio, Texas. It was named by a local resident and plays out like the soundtrack to a cowboy adventure, complete with a love story.

For “New Love,” a song about exploring the freedom of expression, Coveney traveled to New Jersey to record it with his high school friend and fellow musician, John Carlini. Country music wasn’t widely popular in the Tri-state area in the 1960’s when Carlini and Coveney would listen to it on a car radio. They liked it so much that they traveled to Pennsylvania to hear the Campbell Hour radio show, broadcast from the back of Ola Belle Reed and Alex Campbell’s store, where Coveney and Carlini eventually were invited to play on the air. Carlini went on to play with New Jersey native David Grisman, who was a forerunner in the fusion of bluegrass into what is sometimes referred to as “newgrass.” Grisham gained some notoriety through his musical collaborations with Gerry Garcia and has played at Floyd Fest.

Coveney, who makes his living teaching music and playing private events, has headed up bands since first coming to Floyd and has finally settled on a name: Bernie Coveney with Natural Selection. Natural Selection refers to the roving roster of musicians he plays with. Besides the musicians featured on his CD, Coveney frequently plays with actor and former owner of Oddfellas Cantina, Rob Neukirch who sings as well as plays guitar.

Bernie says developing one’s own recognizable sound is what is important to him as a musician and what he encourages his students to work towards. On Whispering Pines, he closes out the rounded sound of the CD with a signature sweet guitar solo, the last plunk of which plays like a period at the end of rich conversation. ~ Colleen Redman

Post Notes: For more information, visit berniecoveney.com. Whispering Pines can be purchased for $15 locally at Blue Ridge Muse, Café Del Sol, New Mountain Mercantile, and The Floyd Country Store, or online at cdbaby.com where the songs can also be heard. Photos are: 1. Bernie at Over the Moon Café. 2. Whispering Pines CD. 3. Bernie giving a porch guitar lesson to Joe.

Posted by Colleen at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

The following was published in The Floyd Press on December 6, 2007.

Roberta Flack meets Bob Marley, that’s how I first described the music of Emily Brass when she was lead singer for the popular Floyd-based band, Foundation Stone. Back then I considered Foundation Stone to be a hometown “house band.” They regularly played at The Pine Tavern Restaurant, renowned for its Sunday Night Open Mic, community gatherings, and the Italian cooking of chef, Michael Gucciardo.

But then the Pine Tavern closed and later Foundation Stone folded when Emily and her husband, Jacques, the band’s bass guitarist, broke up. It felt like the end of an era, significant losses that would lessen my opportunities to dance with and socialize locally with friends.

The Pine Tavern has been open under the new management of Reed and Jane Embrey for over two years now. They serve down home Southern cooking that the Roanoke Times has rated with 4 ½ stars. Tom Ryan, a satirist who authors the online Floyd Enquirer, tends bar in The Tavern Room. This past Friday night, the venue and the sound of Foundation Stone were reunited. Emily, a singer, songwriter, and saxophonist, hosted a party for the release of her new CD with her new band, The Emily Brass Band.

In the old days bands played in the restaurant’s main room. Tables were moved to make room for dancing. Over the years, I and others wore down some of the Tavern’s wood floor shine with our enthusiastic and persistent dance steps. Since then the place has expanded. On this night, the last of November, we danced under the Tavern Pavilion, closed in with plastic and warmed with portable heaters. But it didn’t take long for people to throw their coats over the backs of chairs. Emily has a stage presence that encourages a feeling of celebration, and when she plays sax she reminds me of snake charmer with a talent for getting everyone up and shaking to her rhythmic grooves.

“Who knew?” I asked more than once of those who danced near me, after hearing lead guitarist Richard Ursomarso play. I’ve known Richard, a Floyd Market Gardener, for years but didn’t know he could play guitar riffs like a top chart musician. Other band members who rounded out the reggae, jazz, and hip-hop influenced sound were bass guitarist John Lindsey, keyboardist James Pace, and Foundation Stone drummer Dave Brown.

Emily, who is originally from Montreal Canada, is an environmental activist, and her lyrics reflect that. We once shared a group bus ride to Washington D.C. to protest the start of the Iraq War. She wore a large silver Statue of Liberty crown to go with her hand painted sign that read “Protest is our Patriotic Duty," one of the slogans we came up with at a sign painting party the night before the march. She volunteers her time to help put a local newsletter together, which frequently happens on my kitchen table, and sells Guatemalan clothing when she’s not busy writing and playing music.

The name of her new CD, “Open Door,” suggests the hopefulness that is an integral part of Emily’s style. With a sultry voice ranging from soothing to commanding, she raps and sings lyrics that prod listeners to think about how they live, urging global awareness with a hip upbeat that causes me to look around and smile at my dancing neighbors.

Although most of the songs Emily performed were new ones off her CD, every now and then she would shout out to the crowd that it was time for a “Foundation Stone fix,” and the audience would cheer and prepare to sing along.

Emily’s website, emilybrass.com, best describes her music and what it’s like to dance to: Like a musical shape-shifter, Emily Brass takes you on a psychedelic hippie-hop journey, channeling the ghosts of old school rap, rock-steady reggae, ragtime jazz, and 60's rock & soul, while relentlessly keeping you in a sweat-inducing, smile-inspiring trance-dance, all night long.

Maybe not all night long for some of us, but when it comes to the music of Emily Brass, I’m good for at least a first two hour set.

Post notes: HERE'S a short video clip of the band on the Pine Tavern Pavilion Stage Friday night. And HERE is a Roanoke Times write-up about Emily which links to audio of two of Emily’s songs. Emily’s CD can be purchased online HERE. It is also available in Floyd at noteBooks, Café Del Sol, and New Mountain Mercantile; and in Roanoke at Seeds of Light.

Posted by Colleen at 12:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

It was a final Farewell Memorial for Elliot, the poet and one of the founding members of the Floyd Writer’s Circle who passed away in November two years ago. The tribute was expressed through spontaneous performance art involving his T-shirt collection.

I was having a conversation with my friend Kathleen’s fiancé, Wayne, about The Epic of Gilgamesh and a toasted bacon and sautéed onion sandwich that we both like from the Blue Ridge Restaurant. Kathleen, a historical society archivist who had just addressed the crowd at the Village Green ribbon cutting ceremony, joined us. I reminded her that it was the second anniversary Elliot’s death. Elliot, Kathleen, Mara, and I were all founding members of the Floyd Writer’s Circle and regular Scrabble partners.

Elliot walked stooped over with a cane. With long hair and a full burly beard, he looked somewhat like the Harry Potter character, Hagrid; or maybe Bette Midler, who Elliot named when I asked him once who might play him in the movie of his life. He liked to wear a beret and a daisy behind his ear. He also wore and collected T-shirts, mostly whimsical and comical ones, or those related to his love of contra dancing.

Elliot didn’t have many ties with what little blood family he had. Kathleen, also a contra dancer, worked with a small group of friends to close down Elliot’s house after he died and ended up being the distributor of many of his belongings. She happened to have a large black garbage bag full of his T-shirts in her car.

“I’m ready to let them go, but first I have to photograph them. Do you want to do that with me now?” she asked.

It seemed fitting to spread the shirts out on the grass in front of the historic Jacksonville Cemetery. Elliot, who had a sense of humor but was also somewhat of a Scrooge, would have appreciated the drama and the aged grey tombstones. It was also the closest empty space we could find near the Grand Opening we were attending.

We snapped pictures of the lined up T-shirts from all angles, admiring their colors against the green grass. Turquoise, hot pink, green, and yellow ones gave a bold accent to the whites they were outnumbered by. Some I remembered from when Elliot wore them. Each told a piece of a story from Elliot’s life and gave us, his fellow writers, plenty of catchphrases to read and to ponder.

Kathleen was excited that she had just found a home for Elliot’s old cameras, another one of his collections. I reminded her that I still had a large box of his collector’s ink pens. After packing up the T-shirts together, she headed over to meet up Wayne at The Blue Ridge Restaurant. I agreed to take the T-shirts to the Café Del Sol Spoken Word that evening where some of us would be reading a few of Elliot’s poems and to give them away. As I lugged the heavy pack to my car, I felt like a strange kind of Santa and imagined passing out T-shirts to the poets, writers, and lovers at the café that night. What would Elliot think, I wondered? I laughed at thought of him with a snow white beard.

Post Notes: Read about the memorial Spoken Word held for Elliot two years ago HERE. And Scrabble with Elliot HERE. The closest I have of a posted photo of Elliot is HERE.

NEW: My photographs, a poem, and a quote are being featured today on Sheila Cason's blog, Beauty, "a blog about beautiful things on weblogs." Check it out HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 6:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

A collage works in the same way a dream does. It’s a visual snapshot of various symbolic images that can bypass the brain’s process time and convey a lot of information at once. ~ Colleen

1. The above and the following are a few selected photos of my Asheville Potter son’s collage journal. Josh has had to work with others to design specially made books to accommodate his collaged journal pages. The books expand as he adds to them.

2. I’ve been drawn to collage art for as long as I can remember. I had been doing rudimentary collages for many years, while putting together photo albums and baby books for my sons, but I wasn’t really inspired and didn’t recognize the potential of collage as a creative way to record one’s life until I saw Josh’s journals.

3. My first attempt at collage journaling myself was done as I approached the age of 50. It was a chronicle of my life thus far in colorful bits and pieces. Some photos of that are HERE.

4. Neither Josh nor I tend to buy special items for collage. We prefer to use found items and recycled scraps of our lives. The story of how Josh first became a collage journal artist is HERE.

5. One can work through personal issues by creating art, collage included. Some of Josh’s pages are too personal to post here. Some are almost too personal for me to look at, but I love reviewing his latest work and so far he still lets me. But doesn’t all art come with the risk of having the personal exposed? Doesn’t all art reflect what is deeply inside the artist who made it? (The above is an early collage, one I have always loved.)

6. Josh is a hard worker and an inspired artist. I think he has over a dozen collage journals. He usually weaves the creative work of making them into all parts of his life. But lately building the Community Temple wood-fired kiln, making pots, and having two firings back-to-back has been his full time art. You can see that art HERE. This collage conversation started HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 5:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

I’ve never paid much attention to football. It took two big names, John Mayer and the Dave Matthews Band in concert together to finally get me into Virginia Tech’s Lane stadium. This free concert was conceived by Matthews, the Grammy award winning musician from Charlottesville, Virginia, as a way to show support for Tech after the deadly shootings of last April. Showing their Hokie spirit by wearing school colors, Tech students, staff, faculty, and friends filled the stadium with wall-to-wall maroon and orange.

Mayer, an avid blogger with school boy good looks, plays the guitar as if it was an extension of his body. Just seeing him appear on stage wearing a maroon Hokie T-shirt caused the crowd to erupt in ear piercing applause. Hearing him belt out his Grammy winning hit, “Waiting on the World to Change,” so close to home was a thrill.

“This is my prayer for you,” he told the Tech crowd before letting the lyrics of his song “Gravity” speak for him. Oh gravity … Stay the hell away from me … Oh gravity … Has taken better men than me … Now how can that be? … Just keep me where the light is … Just keep me where the light is … The blues that oozed from his red electric guitar were matched by the soulful facial expressions that Mayer made as he played.

I’m a dancer who needs a big space to move around in, but our seats were set up for watching football. I’m sure I stepped on my neighbor’s toes a time or two, and I might have knocked over someone’s drink while dancing. During the intermission between bands, I looked around and saw a few familiar faces, but I had never seen so many Hokies in one place. It was my first time witnessing the coordinated effort of Hokie fans as they rippled like dominoes from one end of the stadium to another doing their signature cheer. Let's go ... Hokies ... Let's go ... Hokies ...

Even though I knew that South African born Dave Matthews was from Virginia, I was surprised to hear the twang of his accent when he said things like, “”Thanks ya’ll … and all of that stuff.” Admittedly shy, Matthews sings better than he talks on his feet into the mic. Although, he did manage to speak about coming down from Charlottesville in a red van to play at much smaller Blacksburg venues many years ago. And his words were especially appreciated and met with applause when he said, “These are some dark times and the dark side, but I can’t think of anywhere else in the world I’d rather be than with y’all.”

The song that Dave Matthews Band chose to open with, “Two Step," related well to the reason we had all come together. Celebrate we will … Cause life is short but sweet for certain … Hey, we climb on two by two … To be sure these days continue … Things we cannot change …

I have a lot of respect for Matthews, who has weathered the premature deaths of close family members, and has lent his support for farm aid, rebuilding New Orleans, and other worthy causes. But who knew that he could dance like James Brown flat footing at the local jamboree?

The fact that my husband and I didn’t stay till the end wasn’t a reflection on the show. As performances go, it was one with a big impact, a spectacular light show, and the big brass and rousing fiddle jam sound that the Dave Matthews Band is famous for. But after three hours of high volume music and crowded dancing, I was tired and hungry.

We had taken our bikes to the concert to avoid the stadium traffic. As we pedaled off into the warm night, the band was well into their second hour of playing. We could hear them singing the familiar refrain from Bob Marley’s "Three Little Birds." ... Don’t worry about a thing … Every little thing gonna be all right … Singing: don’t worry about a thing … cause every little thing gonna be all right.

The song trailed off as we glided downhill in search of good pizza and a cold beer.

Video clips: 1. John Mayer sings “Waiting on the World to Change” at Tech HERE. 2. Hokie Spirit Cheer HERE. 3. Dave Matthews Band sings Two Step at Tech HERE. The above was published in The Floyd Press on September 13, 2007.

Posted by Colleen at 8:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Suzi Gablik is an art critic, artist, and teacher with an interesting sidekick named Virgil. A reptilian muse with an impressive IQ, Virgil wonders if President Bush googles himself. He isn’t too shy to ask Ivana Trump about her bra buying habits or to say “doo doo” in public when necessary.

Virgil is currently busy being Suzi’s new blog assistant. He loves the internet and has recently been quoted as saying, “Personally I just love swimming in cyberwater. But there are likely to be folks out there who'll think I'm not real either, right?"

I’m always interested in what Suzi has to say, especially since reading her last book, “Living the Magical Life,” part “oracular adventure” based in Blacksburg and part memoir. A blog is a great idea. Virgil is a bonus. I was hooked on his antics since Suzi first introduced him and I learned that he can twirl his arms like a windmill, “a reflex that gets triggered by emotional excitement and sometimes has revolutionary implications,” she explained.

Post Note: Virgil Speaks and is speaking now HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 8:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Dear Goddess of the spreading starry skies … whose shawl is the northern lights … and whose shoes are the polar ice floes …. Lead us ever in circles … Don’t stop dancing with us … Should disastrous death try to cut in … like an asteroid tapping on your shoulder … keep whirling … We don’t mind if our toes get stepped on … We’re having the time of our lives … ~ Excerpt from “A Line to the Goddess,” a poem by Alex Wind.

My friend and Scrabble partner Alex, who died this past December of eye melanoma, was an only child; a daughter who had one daughter of her own, and one granddaughter. Alex was revolutionized in the presence of a Black Madonna with Child on a trip to Poland in the 1990’s, and she incorporated the experience in her art. For her Master’s in Fine Arts Thesis, she sculpted a life-size Black Madonna with child, which was on display at the opening of her memorial art show this past weekend at the Glade Church in Blacksburg.

My Floyd friends, Katherine and Jayn, who have studied with the Machi (female shamans) of Chile, opened the show with a kultrun drumming and a four directions blessing. Alex’s husband, Paul, and I read selections of her poetry from the poetry booklet we worked on together, and then the chapel floor was opened up for the sharing of Alex stories, which highlighted her sense of humor, her love of animals, family, and art.

Even though Alex’s relationship with her own mother was less than ideal, the bonds between mother and child were an ongoing theme in her life and her art. The last thing I did before leaving the art show was to give Alex’s daughter, Chandra, a big hug. I whispered in her ear a reminder that her mother was as close as the very DNA she carries inside her body.

But I understand that Chandra is not likely to be comforted by the thought of such things at this early stage in her grieving. I remember after my brothers Jim and Dan died whenever someone would make a comment about them being “in a better place,” I’d think, “Where? Can you show me?” Even though I wasn’t convinced they were in a better place, I appreciated every effort, no matter how awkward, that each person made to acknowledge the loss I felt. Their caring intention transcended any words that were used.

In the end, I was the one who was comforted but what I said to Chandra, because of what she said to me in return. After acknowledging that she still feels inconsolable, she said, “I’ve been so much more aware of and thankful for my daughter since losing my mother.”

I know Alex would be comforted to know that the love she had for her daughter will be passed on, and that her granddaughter, who seems to have inherited her grandmother’s artistic flair, will be cherished.

Photos: 1. Alex’s Black Madonna and Child sculpture. 2. One in a series of Black Madonna collage prints that Alex did and which are now on show at the Glade Church in Blacksburg. 3. Colleen, Katherine, and Jayn at Alex’s Memorial Art show.

Posted by Colleen at 8:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Note: Halfa is a Middle Eastern word that refers to a celebration.

I ate a little too much Baklava at intermission and most everyone’s eyes in the photos I took glowed red from the low lighting. Other than that, I thoroughly enjoyed Floyd’s first Hafla, a showcase of women’s artistic expression, performed in the Black Box Theater of the June Bug Center this past Friday night in Floyd.

The theme of the well attended evening was belly-dancing, but there were also music and spoken word performances. The lobby was filled with vibrant visual art made by local women. Beverages provided were from the folks the Blackwater Loft and Middle Eastern delicacies prepared by Aaron Staengel were for sale. The black stage was transformed with flowing scarves and tapestries and bedecked with strings of light. A step stool draped in a bright red cloth led to the microphone where poets read and women took turns introducing each other.

Katherine Chantal, a well known local herbalist who performs many of our county’s wedding services, opened the evening. Appearing on stage in a long purple velvet dress, she greeted the audience and offered a blessing. For some reason, my name was first on the brochure of scheduled performers. I always get nervous before reading, but at least I didn’t have to bare my midriff like the belly dancers did, I thought to myself as Katherine graciously introduced me.

Although the evening was planned by and for women, there were men in the audience and even a small number of children. I began to feel shy about reading the poems I had chosen. … Some women know when they ovulate … I know when poetry is aroused … The pull of paper … The flush of pen …The push of creation … And the swollen weight of poems that are late … But the Halfa, with its focus on women and their issues was the right venue for such a poetry. I dedicated the last of my three poems, one entitled “Book Signing,” to all my women writer friends, most of whom were fellow Floyd Writers’ Circle members sitting in the front row, Jayn Avery, Mara Robbins, and Katherine.

In between songs and poems, the belly dancers commanded center stage. An exotic cape dance was performed by two young women (both mothers now) who I have watched grow up. I was particularly captivated by the sword dance done by Ilima Ursomarso and Deb Wildman. Not only did Ilima and Deb balance large silver swords on their heads, but they shimmied and shook while they did so. Ilima, the show’s producer who came to Floyd via Hawaii, is an accomplished dancer who directs the Rhythm Fire Dance Company in Floyd.

There were solo and group dances, many of which were performed by Ilima’s students. One talented troupe of performers came from Blacksburg. A woman named Samra, who Ilima introduced by describing her Cabaret style of dancing and by plugging her “101 Shimmies” DVD, shined in an all red costume that glittered as she moved. The grace and control of movement that the dancers embodied was a wonder to watch. To the jingle of bells, the jangle of silver bangles, and a rousing taped soundtrack, the crowd tapped along. Every now and then someone from the audience let loose a YIP YIP or a HOWL to let the performers know they approved.

By the time it was my turn to introduce my friend of over 20 years, Katherine, I was more relaxed. I said to the audience, “I’m going to tell you something about Katherine that I bet no one here knows, not even her son (who was sitting in the front row). In the 1970’s Katherine and I worked in rival day care centers in the same Massachusetts town. We both had articles published in Mothering Magazine in the early 80s, all before we ever knew each other,” I revealed.

Katherine read a poem about the changing roles of a mother. Mara read a piece called “Alliterate This,” about juggling motherhood and her creative writing studies at Hollins College. Shamama, who was introduced as having “bang stuff” performed in hip-hop-like character. Although her performance had a comedic flair, the subject she spoke of, affordable housing for single mothers, was serious. Her bio in the program read: Shamama is available for babysitting.

Sally Walker, local singer and owner of the Café Del Sol, delivered an entertaining three song set of smooth jazz songs and was accompanied by musicians Billy Miller and Chris Luster. Singing and strumming, Floydian Kari Kovick called for some back-up singers from the audience to join her onstage. It was Kari who skillfully wound down the evening's high energy with a mother’s lullaby that she wrote for her youngest daughter.

“Feel free to cuddle,” she playfully told the audience before proceeding to serenade us. The purity of her resonant voice gave me chills as I listened and provided a gentle ending to a fun filled celebration.

Photos: 1. Blacksburg group. 2. Katherine greets the crowd. 3. Ilima with sword balanced on her head. 4. Kari.

Posted by Colleen at 9:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

I really like to drink coffee beverages, wear sunglasses, eat sandwitches, stay up late, wake up early, and pray that the Red Sox win the World Series. Some of the things I collect are waterfalls, interesting looking bricks, and pieces of trash that can be transformed into art. I make pottery for a living and try to make time everyday to cook food, practice yoga, and work in my journals. I have a motorcycle that doesn't run and sometimes I write dumb poetry about it. I also have a car that I don't like driving much, except if it is through a huge puddle. ~ Josh’s “About Me” online bio.

My son Josh is a serious artist, but he has an unserious side to his nature. Or maybe I should say “he’s seriously unserious when it comes to play.” Since he was a little boy, he hasn’t met a costume he doesn’t like, to the point where I have referred to him as “a closet super hero.” He hasn’t let being an adult dampen his dramatic fun-making.

His latest nickname, Josh Circus, coined by a friend’s little boy who couldn’t pronounce Josh’s real name (Josh Copus), actually fits him to a tee. He likes to host events (which back in my day would have been called “happenings”). One such event revolved around elaborate robot costumes, another, the Drury Fest, marked a friend’s departure into the Peace Corp and involved over 90 people tubing on a river and a costume on Josh’s part. In this case, the costume was a gorilla suit, which worked well for posing for photo-ops while carrying a girl in a bikini.

Although Josh is a potter by trade, he also hasn’t met an art medium he doesn’t like. While he appreciates the masters, he’s just as inspired by Maxfield Parrish or Dr. Seuss. He likes Graffiti and has 4 desks in his warehouse apartment to facilitate his three ring circus of art. Besides clay, his primary art outlet is making collage journals, some pages of which were exhibited in an art show this past summer.

Apparently, my son’s name has been verbified. Some of his friends have taken to using the term “josh copus” interchangeably with the word “collage.” One, who recently saved a scrap of something and then pasted it down in her journal, announced to another friend, “I josh copused it.”

I wonder, if “josh copusing” something means to collage it, or to collect scraps of garbage that other people wouldn’t even notice, what might “josh circus” mean? And what would your name mean if it became a verb?

Post note: My son has his own category side bar here at Loose Leaf. You can read more about his artistic adventures HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 11:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (27)

Note: Simply Wait is home of the 3rd Day Book Club (and the photo graphic posted here). A list of bloggers who are participating this month can be found at Paris Parfait, December’s host.

Winter’s Bone, a novel by Daniel Woodrell, is set in modern times in the Ozark Mountains, but it might just as easily have taken place in the Appalachian Mountains when moonshine stills were prevalent, family feuds were common, and stubborn independence was the norm.

Or maybe the Dollys, the family the story revolves around, were not mountain hill holler folk, but hobbits living in a shire gone haywire. Maybe Ree Dolly, the heroine, was playing the role of Frodo, and the dark influence running through her quest was not the ring of Mordor, but poverty, drugs, and hard living.

Would the author explain early references made by Ree on the night she stayed in a cave: “Map of Guts,” “Fists of Gods,” and “Fruit of Belief,” I wondered? Or was he going to assume we knew what they meant, like he assumed we knew (or that maybe we would ask our husbands who might be substance abuse counselors) what a “crank chef” was? Was the story going to be a fantasy, after all, where icicles appear as “pickets of jagged freeze” crows as “black buttons in twilight,” and where “smoke poured from every chimney and was promptly flattened east by wind?”

I started the book slow, paying attention to the masterful writing, letting myself be enchanted by the weaving of the almost quaint, quilted together colloquial patterns of speech that were new and intriguing to me.

But half way through I started to rush, the story took hold, and I wanted to know. My uncouth habit of flipping pages ahead got the best of me. Was Ree’s dad dead? Murdered? When would Ree, her little brothers, and her mentally unstable mother eat again?

Everybody’s plain spoken, no-nonsense, and gun-toting. Every other person is named Milton, just to confound the law by making it hard for them to be tracked down. There’s Thump Milton, Blond Milton, Catfish Milton, Dog Milton, Punch Milton, Pink-eye Milton and more. Ree, who at age 16 and with her father gone is the family caretaker, fought to have her youngest brother not be named Milton, or Hasslam, or Jessup. Those names were almost a guarantee of them eventually needing the bondsmen who kept turning up in the story.

Some things were not unfamiliar to me. Like Ozark mountain people, Virginians from these parts are resourceful and common sense smart. They know how to make-do and keep to themselves. The book began with a description of deer meat hanging. As I read, two recently hunted deer hung from our shed at the edge of the wood.

And what about this line that Ree said to her girlfriend, Gail, when Gail told Ree she was leaving to go back to her loveless marriage: “You didn’t like it? You gonna tell me you didn’t like it?” Did I read too much into it? Gail answers, “I liked it. I liked it, but not enough.”

Winter’s Bone is not short on grit and substance, realistic gut wrenching scenes, but ultimately it’s a story about family bonds, strength of character, and love; human traits that even the toughest people are softened by.

Post notes: I checked the wikipedia to see if there was an exotic religion unknown to me practiced in the Ozarks. I learned that, indeed, the Ozark mountain people are of the same Scots Irish stock as the majority of the natives here. Scots Irish blood is the stuff that caused Virginia’s Senator-elect, Jim Webb to answer, when asked by President Bush how his boy in Iraq was, “that’s between me and my boy.”

Posted by Colleen at 10:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (18)

Once I get up to dance, I don’t sit down again until the band leaves the stage. The waitress, thinking my unfinished mug of Sam Adams was abandoned, swiped it off the table before I could stop her. I made do. In between songs, I sipped what was left in the bottle, until a second waitress came and took that.

American Dumpster was back in Floyd, after having played at Floyd Fest in the summer and Floyd Fandango in October. Joe and I missed them entirely at Floyd Fest – so many bands play simultaneously there. From the warm-up we heard at the Fandango, we knew we wanted to hear more but had to leave early. When we left, the lead singer, who sounded like Lou Reed meets Tom Waits, was weaving a free style rap about art, hunting, and growing up in a junkyard in Charlottesville, Virginia, the son of a well known sculptor.

They were playing at Ray’s Restaurant for a party hosted by Tuggles Gap Restaurant and Motel. The folks at Tuggles Gap wanted to celebrate some upcoming changes and thank all their patrons for their support over the years. They party on the lawn at Tuggles Gap in the summer, but inside, they don’t have much of a dance floor.

I got another beer. I didn’t have to pay. Short of making a “do not disturb” sign, I set the bottle in an ashtray and constructed a fence of Sweet and Low packets all around it before resuming my business on the dance floor. I was dancing with Joe (above photo), next to Yarrow and Uriel, the Yard sisters of “Woodsong Flutes” fame who grew up home-schooling in a local community, where Joe had lived for a short time.

The description of Christian Breeden, American Dumpster’s lead singer and primary songwriter, that I clipped from the Charlottesville Daily while writing a story about Floyd Fandango for the Floyd Press still stands: “a young Bob Dylan’s charisma with Howlin’ Wolf’s voice.” According to the American Dumpster webpage, the band’s name suggests “a recycling movement of ideas” and relates to Breeden’s family farm: His family home just outside Charlottesville, Virginia is a curious nexus where art, agriculture, industry, and intellect merge in the most unpredictable ways. The Breeden farm is home not only to Biscuit Run Studios, a sculpture studio and long-standing institution in the Virginia art scene, but also to an extensive junkyard of rusted cars, motorcycles, farm tractors, and assorted machinery.

“Look what happened to the Dave Matthews Band (also from Charlottesville), I said to Joe as we listened to one band member doing a washboard solo, “maybe they’ll be famous someday.” The dancing heated up, and Floyd musician, Billy Miller, joined the band onstage.

At the break, a group of us gathered at a table, like the American Dumpster Floyd fan club chapter, talking about the band. Yarrow leaned in when she heard the name of the lead singer. Turns out she knows him. They were both raised unconventionally in artist’s farm communities and had run into each other from time to time on the art and craft show circuit scene.

Posted by Colleen at 11:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

The first time I met isa was in the late 1980’s at a neighborhood pond where weekly swimming lessons for Floyd homeschoolers and Blue Mountain School students took place. isa stood out, not only because of her striking beauty, but because she was the mother of two babies and was carrying one on each hip. Later, I came to know her as an artist. Looking for ways to make income as single full-time mother, I agreed to model for the Floyd Figures Art group, of which she was a member. I was amazed at how quickly she sketched a pastel portrait of me and how well she captured my likeness. When I told her how impressed I was, she ripped it off the easel and gave it to me.

We were co-counseling partners for a couple of years. After taking a workshop on co-counseling, hosted by isa at her house, she and I became regular co-counseling partners. Every couple of weeks, I drove out to her farm in Check and we would take turns talking and listening, giving each other our undivided attention. During this time I wrote a poem about her clothesline. I remember her field of purple coneflowers. She was growing them to harvest the roots for making Echinacea tincture. Sometimes I would model for her while she sketched.

I held isa’s third baby days after she was born. Her marriage was ending and she was beginning to think out loud about living in Hawaii. Later, we were in the same improv dance class that performed as a group at the Mountain Rose Dance Recital. When Joe and I got married in 1996, isa offered to paint us. Dressed in our wedding whites, we stretched out on a futon on her back porch (where the light was good). “Sit in whatever position is most comfortable,” she said. “This could take awhile.” Joe, taking her directive serious, lay down in my lap. At one point, isa’s then-boyfriend, who was a rock climber, came to visit. He proceeded to climb and then hang from the rafters of her porch.

Because of the proximity of Joe’s and my hand, which placed our wedding rings center stage, isa named the wedding portrait “The Rings.” It hung in her first show in Floyd at the Old Church Gallery before it found its way to a wall in our home. The image was also featured in a story about isa, published in The Floyd Press.

Post Notes: The above is the result of the positive feedback I received on my Monday’s entry about my friend isa and her art. When I mentioned in a comment that she had done a wedding portrait of my husband and me, several readers asked to see it. You can visit isa’s website HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 3:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

“Why didn’t you tell us that Josh was being interviewed for US Airways Magazine?” my sister-in-law’s message on our answering machine said. Her husband was flying from Missouri to the east coast when he picked up the magazine in the seat pocket in front of him, I learned when I called her back. Flipping through the pages, he found himself reading an article about Asheville, North Carolina, written by Stephen Poole. He was stunned to come across this about my son: “During one of the biannual Studio Strolls you might meet Josh Copus (Wedge Building), an aspiring potter who, after seeing a farmer excavating a field, wound up with tons of free clay and a new friend.”

Josh, a twenty-seven-year-old BFA student at University of North Carolina in Asheville, has been getting a lot of attention for his work with local clay. In 2005 he and his fellow potter, Matt Jacobs, won an Undergraduate Research Grant titled “Recreating Tradition: Observing the Effects of Local, Non-industrially Processed Ceramic Material on the Work of Contemporary Ceramists.” The grant led to a presentation of their findings at last year’s National Conference on Undergraduate Research and a show, organized by Josh and Matt, at Asheville’s American Folk Gallery. The show featured pottery made with local materials by North Carolinian studio potters and those from as far away as Japan and England. More recently, Josh was awarded a $15,000 Windgate Fellowship Award to fund the construction of a wood-fired kiln and to further his exploration into using local materials in contemporary ceramics.

The US Airways mention of Josh was the least of the press he’s recently received for his work. He was also cited in the current issue of “Ceramics Monthly,” a local potter who subscribes to the magazine informed me. Another magazine, “Studio Potter” recently published “Neil Woody’s Turkey Creek Field,” a story penned by Josh that describes his unlikely friendship with the farmer whose land he had excavated clay from.

“Neil Woody is a sixty-year-old tobacco farmer in Leicester County of western North Carolina with a drainage problem in one of his fields. Last year, Neil farmed over a hundred acres of burly tobacco but didn’t harvest a stick out of the bottom field that runs along Turkey Creek,” Josh’s story begins.

Working on a tip from a local rock hound, Josh and Matt drove out to Turkey Creek in search of “wild” clay. What they found was a ditch with huge chunks of dark blue clay lining the bank by the road. Apparently, the farmer who owned the adjacent fields had dug into the sedimentary clay in an effort to divert heavy rains from flooding his crops. They left with a truck load of the roadside clay and the name of farmer, which they learned from a neighbor passing by who pulled over to lend a hand.

According to Josh, using the wild clay was an enlightening experience that inspired the creation of new pots. He and Matt stretched their prized stash of it for as long as they could, but eventually it ran out. “It took a long time to get up the nerve to call Neil … The Woody’s have been living in Leicester County for six generations, so there are a lot of them in the phone book,” Josh wrote in the Studio Potter article.

Making the call, Josh arranged to meet Neil Woody to ask about harvesting clay from his field. He was encouraged to discover that not only was Neil receptive to the idea, but that Neil had a reference for handmade pottery, as he had inherited a small collection of folk pots from his grandmother and had fond memories of her using them.

“When I showed Neil a pot made out of the clay from his tobacco field, I caught a glimpse of the potential that pots have to impact people’s lives. He held it as a potter would, turning it over in his hands and touching it like someone with an insider’s appreciation for how it was made. He didn’t just look at it, either; he really saw it and he knew where it came from,” Josh explained.

After a couple of small shovel digs that were beginning to feel invasive to the land, Josh approached Neil to ask about a full scale excavation. He describes Neil’s response this way: “Now Josh, you know you’re going to pay those boys to pull that stuff out of there. You don’t need to pay me nothing; you leave my field in better shape than you found it and we’ll be all right.” He liked what we were doing and didn’t feel the need to exploit the situation. I also think he knew his eventual payment would come. He really liked our pots and we had every intention of giving him anything that caught his eye,” Josh wrote.

The Studio Potter article goes on to outline the three day excavation of eleven dump-truckfuls of clay at a cost of $3,800, but the main theme of the story is the one Josh tells about the bond that was forged between him and Neil, based on their mutual appreciation of the land and what it provides, as this excerpt illustrates: “What is truly unique is the experience: my friendship with the Woody family and the feel of the clay through my hands. Neil offered me an education in clay beyond the classroom. He told me stories about the land and the people who lived on it. Instead of just talking about the physical properties of clay, Neil taught me about its history.”

Neil and Josh’s friendship is ongoing. Josh says he looks forward to Neil’s visits to his pottery studio. “He never calls; he just stops by whenever he is in the neighborhood, which happens frequently, especially during auction time at the tobacco warehouse just down the street. He just walks in and says, “Show me something you made out of that old dirt,” the story concludes.

Currently Josh is busy putting together his BFA Thesis Show, which is entitled “Building Community” and involves a wall installation of homemade bricks. The bricks are fired by Josh at varying temperatures creating a rainbow of clay color. Each one is stamped with the word “individual,” symbolizing the formidable strength that each separate individual has when joined together as a whole. There will be other bricks stamped with the word “community” available for visitors to take home, as well as a display of Josh’s pottery.

My husband and I are making plans to attend the show, scheduled for December 8th at UNC in Asheville. “Will Neil Woody be there?” I asked Josh the last time we spoke on the phone.

“Yes, of course,” he answered.

“Good,” I said enthusiastically. “I’m looking forward to shaking his hand.” ~ Colleen Redman

Post Notes: You can read more about Josh's work with wild clay and view photos HERE, HERE, and HERE. Or you can visit my sidebar catergory, Asheville Potter Son.

Posted by Colleen at 8:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (18)

She has no last name – like Cher – and spells her first name in lower case letters. She paints mermaids on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. An improv dancer, dumbeck drummer, and teacher of Non-violent Communication, mostly isa’s a painter. Whether a Floydian or Hawaiin portrait, whether landscape or seascape, her animated pastels (several of which grace the walls of my house) splurge and excite. Her passionate oil paintings ignite with color in sweeping strokes of joyful expression.

Fasten your seatbelts and go take a look…. HERE.

Posted by Colleen at 8:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

My friend Patry from “Simply Wait” had three hot new ideas in October. One of them was to host an online book club called “Third Day” in which participating bloggers agree to read the same book and post about it on the third day of each month. The first book chosen for club reading was “Half of a Yellow Sun,” by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and today our homework is due!

Patry is a writer I admire. Her first novel, The Liar’s Diary, published by Dutton, is due out this coming February, and her blog never fails to deliver top notch reading. I wanted to be involved in the book club, to do some literary hob-knobbing with her and her readers, but as the October clock ticked by it looked more and more unlikely.

I have never thought so much about a book that I didn’t read as I’ve thought about this one, with its bright yellow cover seared in my mind. I wanted it to appear in my mailbox, to see it in the grocery store at the check out stand. I tried to plead hick. There’s no Barnes and Noble or other big book chains in my small one stoplight town, I reasoned. But in fact, I did go to Christiansburg, where several book stores are located, on three occasions in October, but by the time I finished with my reasons for being there, I had no energy to stop at the bookstore.

It didn’t help that I kept forgetting the name of the book (I didn’t even try to remember the name of its Nigerian author). I must have written down the title half a dozen times, checking to make sure I had it right. Was it Piece of Yellow Sun, A Yellow Piece of Sun, or Half of a Yellow Sun? To my credit, I took one of those scraps of paper with the name of the book scribbled on it to our local library, but they didn’t have the book.

With October came the scheduled guest appearance I made with a group of local book club members who had read my book, The Jim and Dan Stories. I wrote and sold three articles to the Floyd Press. Two blogger meet-ups with out of town bloggers took place, as well as a Floyd Fandango where my husband and I saw a clown balance a wheelbarrow on his head. Distracted by trees in bright colors, poetry readings, apple picking, Halloween parties, and politics, when the end of October rolled around, I had to face reality.

Like a fly on the wall with no voice, I’m left to read online reviews and the entries that Patry and her readers post.

Go on over and check out what's being said about the book that Patry paraphrases one reviewer as having said ‘it’s simply the future of literature.' That’s were I’m going next …

Post Note: The Third Day logo/photo above is via Simply Wait.

Posted by Colleen at 8:36 AM |