I KNOW THAT BEAR

  First a little history lesson from Professor Chuckles McCormick: "you know the bear was never really the symbol of russia (at the moment it is a two-headed eagle) but has come to represent russia for much of the past five centuries in what we can only call now "fake news," stuff like ivan the terrible being fond of using bears for executions, but it's even more convoluted than that...the national symbol of the ukraine is a nightingale if you got a stuffed one of those. the nightingale is also the harbinger of spring, so we could all use hearing its sweet sounds about now."   

      I didn't know any of that, but Goddamn if I'd let Chuck know. So I responded: The bird seed between the bear's legs is added to bring in the nightingale, Professor. Nothing between my legs works as bait anymore. Tomorrow that bear will be covered in snow. 

     It's 8 am and the snow has just started to fall.  7 to 12 inches is predicted. A foot of snow is not uncommon this time of year in these hills. March is the cruelest month. I woke up to a flock of robins in the front yard. Now they are all gone. Back to winter. 

    It's been a long, cold, winter and all we can hope for is that this is the last gasp. Yesterday I installed a new piece in the Mountain dale Social Sculpture Park. It had been a while since I'd pulled my work out of the park and felt inspired enough to put a new piece back in. The work I chose was one that I had had around for years and felt was relevant in today's war time climate. It has a good story attached.

   About seven years ago I was just starting to fully explore the possibilities of "public" art on my lawn. Always on the look out for material with which to make assemblage sculptures that could withstand the elements, I had spotted an old, tattered bear mount leaning against a garage just outside of Mountain dale. I stopped a couple of times but nobody was ever home. So I forgot about the bear. Then, one day I was at the dump and a pick up pulled next to me to unload its garbage. Riding in the bed was an old bear mount. As the man prepared to dump the bruin onto the garbage pile I asked him where he lived? He told me "Just above Mountain dale." It was that bear. I told him I'd had my eye on the bear for some time and wondered if he'd give it to me? "Sure," he said "I was going to drop it off at The Church of the Little Green Man but I'm running late, so I just brought him here." I looked closer at the man to determine if I knew him. I didn't. "Do you know who I am?" I asked him. He shook his head, curious why I would ask. "I live at the Church." He looked shocked. "NO SHIT!" We both grabbed the bear and put him in my truck. "I guess you were meant to have him." he said patting the rotting fur. "Goodbye old buddy. Happy trails." Now that bear is back in his old stomping ground. More work to come. PEACE.