Sometimes, Reggie Black drives me crazy.
He doesn’t do it intentionally; he’s a polymath and a polyglot. He can’t help himself. If I told him he was driving me crazy, he’d say “Girl, I’m not responsible for what happens with the information I give you. We’re all responsible for our own thoughts and feelings.”
Reggie’s right. I should have paid more attention in college.
I just wish Reggie hadn’t sent me pictures of the clock tower in Prague and the stained glass windows at St. Barbara’s church in Kutná Hora. I wish he hadn’t introduced me to an early twentieth century illustrator and artist named Alphonse Mucha.
I wish he hadn’t sent it last night when I was ruminating about my Friday blog post.
The illustrator and artist I had planned to write about today was N.C. Wyeth. I was writing a long sketch in my mind about my introduction to the works of the Wyeths, my thoughts about famous rusticators, and the artistically unique light and scenery of Maine.
I was hoping to include some cathedral pines and a slight homage to the small, organic farmers who are making Maine more food-resilient than the rest of the nation. I wanted to end with a sweeping comment that went something like this:
“…and there is something you can’t buy and there is something you can’t build. There is something here that transcends money. It has to do with living and breathing and dying and generations of that happening, over and over. One may replace those rotting front porches with Azek trim boards, but it won’t replace the smell of time that remains from the things which can’t be bought and reconstructed.”
I was planning to make peace with the rusticators, but instead, I’m staring at the clock tower in Prague and looking at my watch. I’ve run out of time.
A bientôt j’espere, Reggie!