On Saturday, I finally let myself start to dream again about our studio project. To put it briefly, the studio build has not agreed with my own personal timeline. But I’ve continued to hold onto the fact that the universe unfolds as it’s supposed to. Best to trust the process, although I do hate that saying.
I walked around a 45,000 square foot antique mall in Batesville, MS trying to source particularly tables and furniture. I walked away with the oldest books I’ve ever purchased and the rustiest $1 garden spade and rake. I’ve got this big idea of an installation of the oldest garden tools I can find on a wall in the studio. Not a single piece of furniture spoke to me there. Seemed like if I couldn’t find what I was looking for in that 100 degree vintage treasure trove I may be a little doomed for my “vision.”
I spent Sunday with a friend in Taylor ushering my friends at Grit into their new chapter. The afternoon was wholesome, bittersweet, really southern, and unhurried. On my way out of town, I noticed the estate sale happening next to Taylor Grocery. I immediately kicked myself for not realizing that was this weekend and here I am pulling up during its last 15 minutes. I thought, whatever I’ll go poke around. I walked in a building I’ve run past as a kid, sat in front of as a stupid, dreamer of a college kid, and shared wine with my husband on. I could tell everything had been picked over. But right in the middle of the room was the most magnificent table. It took me about 3 minutes to put a sold tag on it. I paid far too little at checkout and drove home. I had finally broken the ice and made my first real purchase for the studio. Felt good.
We swung by this afternoon and picked it up. To my surprise, Bill Beckwith was standing there in the doorway. I hadn’t pieced it all together that this table was part of his story. “This table is very special,” he said. “Seen a lot of my work.” The William Faulkner statue, the Tennessee Williams statue… all made right on that very table. The table was in the Delta during the 60s/70s at his Foundry and then it made the journey to Taylor. I felt a big lump in my throat as we talked about his work, and I explained what I had envisioned for this table in the floral studio. That I hoped I could do justice to the sculptures and art that came before it. That I’d take care of it. That I’d give it new life.
We stayed and talked for a while and it’s a memory I know that will stay with me for as long as I can remember. I drove down Old Taylor Road with some kind of new spirit within me thinking about the weekend and my own sheer fortune. The whole time there was this guiding light I couldn’t stop thinking about. This inner voice of an artist. This draw to certain materials and pieces that have rich history. It’s unexplainable and to be quite honest, I really don’t understand it. I felt a little stupid that on a Sunday afternoon I stumbled into the rarest, dumbest luck. Or perhaps, divine intervention. Whatever it was, it was really damn lucky.
I can’t wait to place magnificent floral pieces on Bill’s molding table. They’ll carry his spirit, because I am just a tiny torch trying to carry on the goodwill and power of many incredible Taylor, MS artists that have come before. I’ve only begun to learn of the rich history. Obie Clark, Bill Beckwith, Jane Rule Burdine… and so many others. They say it’s an “artist’s town” and that’s putting it lightly.