Blog

Memories tug on our heartstrings, and like the strings of a marionette, those memories move our feet to search for place.

My place began on a small farm in west Tennessee. I made mud pies in the cotton field before I was old enough to drag a cotton sack. I wielded a hoe as I grew older, chopping the noxious pig weed and cow itch vine from row of acres of cotton. 

From our family garden, I picked peas and beans, filling dishpans that would rest on our laps as we sat on the porch, snapping and shelling. I gathered tomatoes, helping mother fill quarts with the scarlet fruit for juice and soup. 

In the evenings, I made art with crayons and coloring books; or painted life-sized Bachmann plastic bird models; or stitched pieces of fabric into dresses, blouses, or skirts. 

Music filled my place, then, as well: Sunday morning hymns in our little Methodist church, public school choir, musical performances produced in our small town, state-wide talent shows—even the Ted Mack Amateur Hour.

Then the puppeteer adjusted the strings, and I left my childhood place. My new place was a university campus filled with students and professors whose childhood places had been much different from mine. I read, studied, partied, marched, sang, researched, and danced with new friends and acquaintances from big cities, small towns, foreign countries. I rallied against war and met the man who was to become my husband, newly returned as an Infantry officer in Vietnam. 

The marionette strings stilled for several years as we made our place in Middle Tennessee, building a home together, working in service-oriented professions. In fact, my first two years as a public school educator were in Cannon County at Woodbury Grammar School. My childhood memories, though, of farm and garden never faded away. So the place of my adult life has always been filled with food, gardens, farms, and animals.

I filled my place with artistic explorations of fabric and thread, watercolor, oils, charcoal, and pastels—searching for my voice, drawing and painting images which were reflections of my life.

Music filled this place, also: weekend performances with a cajun family band whose family restaurant provided a Middle Tennessee version of a Louisiana fai do do.

As I became of retirement age, the marionette’s fingers really began to dance and propel the strings, and I began to repay to my aging parents the years of nurturing they had provided me. As their caregivers, I made many trips to my childhood home. I continue to make those trips as Mother’s caregiver. We love the hours we spend together growing her gorgeous day lilies, harvesting her garlic crop, researching family history, trying new recipes, and—oh yes—making art. 

My paintings showing in The Berger Gallery, Arts Center of Cannon County, reflect my love of place. I hope you enjoy them and find some part of them that helps you connect to your place. The exhibit will be on display from July 25-September 8. Please join me for a reception at the Center, August 18, 6 p.m.

 Arts Center of Cannon County, 1424 John Bragg Hwy, Woodbury, TN, 

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”  Nelson Mandela