We've been friends with Drew and Louise Langsner for almost fifty years. We've known Drew as a master craftsman and teacher of woodworking and, at heart, an artist. So we shouldn't have been surprised when he turned from making chairs to deconstructing and rearranging them into new forms. Something like a traditional musician turning to jazz.
The Madison County (NC) Arts Council has mounted a beautiful show of Drew's latest work. We attended the opening on June 1st.
The Arts Council occupies the building that was once a Belk's store and later the public library. They have done a magnificent job in transforming the space.
Some of the artist's more traditional work.
I love this whimsical decoration.
A beautiful dough bowl. About forty-five years ago John and I took a workshop with Drew and we each made a dough bowl. They weren't as graceful as this, but we still have and use them.
Drew has made a variety of serving dishes from sassafras, sometimes incorporating a bit of acrylic decoration.
It was a fine opening with wine and nibbles and lots of interested gallery-goers.
These are not chairs. Anymore.
Beautiful slices of a hollow log, painted and decorated.
This red one was painted with auto paint.
A found bit of wood, disguised as a king's ransom in gold.
The artist.
The show will be up through July. Come visit Marshall and enjoy the vibe. (It's changed right much since we moved here.)
Marshall has changed so much since we moved here back in '75. It's become a veritable happening place. This month's Our State magazine put the Star Diner on the cover and devoted multiple pages to Marshall's on-going renaissance.
Much energy and creativity and money has gone into rescuing what was a moribund town and re-purposing some of the iconic buildings.
In '75 Marshall had, in addition to its courthouse and sheriff's office and jail, two banks, a funeral home, two florists, a grocery, a library, a department store, a dime store, two hardware stores, a school, an appliance store, a drug store, two car dealerships, and a post office. The courthouse and post office remain but most of the others have gone out of business or have moved to the bypass or nearby, and the empty spaces have become apartments and boutique businesses -- antiques, galleries, studios, a coffee house, several up scale eateries.
It's good for the town--all these energetic folks bringing their dreams to life. I applaud their zeal -- while remembering fondly when the empty streets were swept every evening by one guy with a push broom.
The following was brought to my attention by Liz G. -- it's from the Commentary section of yesterday's Chicago Tribune. And it's about Marshall -- our county seat and the place I call Ransom in my books.
The writer got it mostly right.
No heated toilet seats in Marshall
by William Choslovsky
Two recent trips exposed me to what is right with America, and wrong
Let's start with the wrong, as that was quicker. I was recently in Las Vegas, visiting some of the money I'd left behind on previous trips. In the middle of my first night, I awoke and stumbled into the bathroom where I was met by something wholly unexpected: a heated toilet seat.
Don't get me wrong. It felt good, and I know Sin City is home to excess, but let's ponder this for a moment.
To enjoy the warmth on one's rump for two minutes per day, the seat is heated for 1,438 minutes more! As I sat, I thought of my father's stories of how he used to dig the pit for his family's outhouse, which made me feel particularly guilty.
I am convinced that when historians look back in 500 years on the downfall of American civilization, they will trace it to heated toilet seats in Vegas. Reality television and bacon martinis may also be on the list, along with competitive kindergarten.
Now, as for what is right in America, I take you to Marshall, N.C., where I recently spent a long weekend with family. Marshall is in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina, about 30 minutes from Asheville, a hip town. But to give some perspective, Asheville — at least culture and pace wise — is closer to Manhattan than it is Marshall. And therein lies the joy.
On our first night, we found ourselves at a little restaurant in "downtown" Marshall called Zuma. It was packed with soft-spoken locals, and a number of musicians engaged in an impromptu bluegrass jam session. One was better than the next. When I asked a regular who one fiddler was, he said, "Bobby Hicks, he's pretty good, ain't he?"
As my urban impulses got the best of me, I Googled Bobby Hicks and learned he only has 10 Grammy Awards, not that he, or any of the other talented musicians, would tell you. And here he was playing for nothing. Nothing, of course, other than true joy and the comfort of a night spent well with neighbors.
Later in the weekend, I found myself in the parlor of Pat Franklin, whose family's roots in these parts go back to the early 1800s, if not earlier. Strumming guitar and sharing some gritty lyrics in her parlor was Larry Norton, who lives nestled in the mountains 15 miles away in an even smaller "town" called Sodom. Sodom, I am told, makes Marshall look downright cosmopolitan.
Larry, who likely lacks an eighth-grade education, played hymns and tunes so pure, some of which are unchanged in these hills for hundreds of years. Even Johnny Cash might have felt like a sellout in his presence.
I also learned during my visit that it was in these hills that the American revolution turned, where the British suffered some of their first setbacks. It was also here in the Civil War where brother literally fought brother, with the area bitterly divided over slavery.
And truth be told, these "Bible-thumping folks" in Marshall are not only more welcoming than any of my urban counterparts, they are actually more open-minded as well. They combine sincere appreciation and contentment with respect and openness.
It is easy to dismiss places like Marshall and their people as "hicks in the sticks." These "hicks," however, can surely teach us city slickers more than we can teach them.
If the grid went out, they'd survive a lot longer than you or I, but it runs deeper than that. Even if the grid doesn't run out, they may fare better — or at least understand and appreciate life better — as they practice balance better than most others.
Now I am sure I am romanticizing my weekend a bit, but between the majestic mountains, quiet streams and earnest locals, it may be well-deserved.
While so much of our world is pre-fab, contrived, hyped and artificial, Marshall is — in a word — authentic. And to be clear, authenticity does not mean all is candy canes and roses.
Quite the contrary, much of life in Marshall is hard. But hard or not, in Marshall, what you see is generally what you get, people mean what they say, and there are few mixed messages.
If you visit, you'll find much to like, just don't go looking for a heated toilet seat.
So -- big doings in our tiny county seat next Tuesday. This is a part of the burgeoning culture that is filling in some of the blanks of a town that, twenty years ago, pretty much shut down after six. There used to be a guy actually sweeping the downtown street with a push broom.
I'm glad I saw the old Marshall but I'm happy to be included in the new. And more than a little abashed to be paired with a poet of Keith's caliber. Hey, I'm just a paperback writer (cue music) while he, well I'm quoting here from the Marshall blog:
Keith Flynn is the author of five books, including four collections of poetry: The Talking Drum (1991), The Book of Monsters (1994), The Lost Sea (2000), and The Golden Ratio (Iris Press, Jan. 2007), and a collection of essays, entitled The Rhythm Method, Razzmatazz and Memory: How To Make Your Poetry Swing (Writer's Digest Books, Feb. 2007). Since 1986 he has served as lyricist and lead singer for the nationally acclaimed rock band, The Crystal Zoo, which produced three albums: Swimming Through Lake Eerie (1992), Pouch (1996), and the spoken-word and music compilation, Nervous Splendor (2003). His poetry has appeared in many journals and anthologies around the world. He has been awarded the Sandburg Prize for poetry, the ASCAP Emerging Songwriter Prize, the Paumanok Poetry Award and was twice named the Gilbert-Chappell Distinguished Poet for NC. Flynn is founder and managing editor of The Asheville Poetry Review. For more info, please visit the website: www.keithflynn.net.
It should be interesting. They've asked me to read for twenty minutes and specifically requested that I read from the upcoming The Day of Small Things. So I've tried to pick out some good bits that make sense on their own and, I hope, won't embarrass me.
I wish all my blog friends lived nearer and could drop in, especially for the coffee and conversation after.
- Local Mystery Author VICKI LANE and Poet/Musician KEITH FLYNN will launch a new reading and performance series in Marshall, THE MARSHALL AURICULAR HOUR Summer Series, on Tuesday July 21st @ 7PM, at The FBI (French Broad Institute) 68 North Main Street in Marshall A reception and book signing will follow next door at LAPLAND BOOKSHOP 147 North Main St, Marshall. Refreshments will be provided by ZUMA COFFEE. THE MARSHALL AURICULAR HOUR marks the partnership of three cultural destinations in Marshall, North Carolina, Thirty minutes from Downtown Asheville. The FBI (The French Broad Institute of Time and The River) is an Arts Venue and residency program featuring Music, Film, Theater, Performance and the Spoken Word. Lapland Bookshop & Arts offers new and gently used books and select handcrafts in a storybook cottage setting. Zuma Coffee is Marshall’s meeting place for Coffee, Tea and Fresh Baked Goods.
THE MARSHALL AURICULAR HOUR Summer Series will run for four consecutive Tuesdays from July 21st through August 11th. Future Events will include poet Kristin Prevelet and Musician Steve Davidowski, and a “Ballad and Counter Balled” evening featuring musician Emily Lacy, Poet Lee Ann Brown, and singers from Madison County’s rich ballad tradition.
For additional information please contact Lee Ann Brown at The FBI (646-734-4157, la@tenderbuttons.net) or Stacy Glasgow at Lapland Bookshop (828-649-0099).
