101 Deweguns painting chapter (My part 2 of chapter 2)
Mid-week, we set forth on this uncertain venture, heading downtown to collect a Dewegun waiting for its surface visual. Our spirits lifted with anticipation. we arrived at FirstOntario Performing Arts Centre. There, with reverence, the drum was brought forth to us in the lobby, cradled in a hand-crafted satchel, like a treasure safeguarded from the world. This still silent drum, this vessel of stories and rhythms and songs yet to be sung.
In that moment, I was filled with anticipation, too eager to dare a glance. But when we returned home and unveiled it -wow! The satchel and the drum were both breathtaking, the drum’s surface a tapestry of soft tans, glowing like sunlight dappled upon the earth. I wondered, ‘How could I ever cover such beauty with paint?’ Can my art add to its voice?
Ah, but art has a way of finding its own heartbeat, of forging its own path through the silence. While the artist may nurture a vision, it is the art itself that leads us. Slowly, my plans began to shift. I re-considered including a painted sky, instead, allowing the Monarch butterfly to rest delicately upon the prepared drum skin. The drums dappled surface echoing the delicate patterns of the butterfly wings. Allowing the drums voice to emerge, whisper by whisper to become its drumbeat.
With a blend of uncertainty and eagerness, I contemplated where this journey would lead. The hope was for the drum to become something transformational, resonating with all who would hear its tragic tales. For every story longs to be told, yet it is in the hearts of those who listen that they truly come alive. It is in the act of listening, of opening our hearts to others, that we breathe life into these stories and so strengthen connections that span generations.
In the studio, I met the voices within the Dewegun. Their names came forward, each a heartbeat lost too soon, each a song cut short. So many songs interrupted, so many life threads frayed. This realization leaves one with an emptiness, - the magnitude of it all. As I lit the tobacco offering, I watched the smoke rise, like echoes of what had been, seeking a way to be heard. The rising smoke beckoning to open our hearts and offer guidance for the task at hand. The Dewegun 36, seemed to hold its breath, adjusting itself to this space of creation. It had traveled to be here, its own journey threaded with the wisdom of those companions traveling its path.
Morning brought me signs as sure as the dawn: a buck, dressed in its autumn gray coat, danced across my morning walk, and soon after, a Monarch butterfly fluttered by. Were these omens and the guidance I had sought? I took them as guides, a signal that I was on the right path. Their presence confirmed that my heart was focused and open, and so I welcomed them as positive signs.
Back in the studio, I carefully laid out the Monarch design, matching it to the drum’s contours. I pondered its orientation and decided to juxtapose the drum’s hide patterning with the butterfly’s wings. Sketching the design, I transferred it to the drum, rubbing charcoal onto the back of the sketch, before retracing it onto the drum. I set up a jig to cradle the Dewegun vertically, navigating the challenge of painting a three-dimensional object as if it was a 2D painting. I was ready to begin.
With music in the background, I began. Layer by layer, I paused to allow each painting layer to dry. Returning each time to the drum with fresh eyes. This rhythm of creation continued, day after day, as I added in details.
Again I add some detailing. Soon I remove the drum from its cradle but bring it into our great room so that I can spend more time looking at it, trying to see it anew, in a different setting. Seeking what works or doesn’t fit with where this is leading me. Over the next day I will rework the areas that don’t yet satisfy as belonging to the drum.
The completed painting of the Drum 36.
As the Dewegun is destined to reside at the FirstOntario Performing Arts Centre, I wanted it to know of the waters that shape and border the Niagara Peninsula. This will eventually be its home. As the Drum 36 shall have it's own voice, hearing these waters seemed appropriate. So, I chose five special locations for it to bear witness to the moving waters and to recognize the waters' songs as part of its heritage.
The shore of Lake Erie was our first stop. Traveling the path near a beaver dam, through a small forest, and then over a sandy dune to the beach. The lakes waves whispered, and the easterly winds carried the morning air and the scents of the lake through the trees. Here, the drum could hear the heartbeat of this great lake.
We moved next to the banks of the Niagara River, where the flowing waters murmured in relaxed passage. It's calm surface hiding its swift moving undertow unseen below. Between a Birch and a willow, the drum heard the rivers calm voice.
We ventured to the cusp of the Horseshoe Falls, where the thunder of cascading water at the cusp of the Horseshoe Falls overwhelmed any possible conservation. I hoped Drum #36 could hear the rivers rising mist transform itself into a stationary cloud, rising like the Tobacco offerings smoke, dancing in rhythm above the table rock. Speaking a torrent of truth.
We descended among the trees and mosses of the mighty gorge, reaching at last the edge of the Niagara river. We stood near the presence of the whirlpool, the walls of the river gorge towering high above. In contrast to the roar of the falls, this place was eerily silent as the waters spun and spun continuously upon itself. As if the river itself was gathering its breath. A rising pulse beneath the rivers heartbeat. Here, the waters power was both formidable and humbling.
I had pondered whether to let the drum hear the Welland Canal, but this ancient gorge felt more fitting. For though the land defines the river, here one realizes the waters themselves have so obviously in turn shaped the land. We both shape and are shaped by life.
Finally, we stood on Lake Ontario shore, a place where Lake Erie has transformed into another Great Lake. The waters stretched out before us, its voice a low rumble reaching to the horizon. Each water possesses its own song. Although all are just water, their voices and stories are as unique as our own.
Now, Drum 36 and its 13 named ones, are nestled once more in its burgundy satchel. Soon the drum shall embark on a new chapter. After its awakening and when its voice is raised in chorus with its companions, it will sing songs of loss and whispers of hope. Raising it drum beat to proclaim the truth. Its journey much like the Monarch's pilgrimage, possibly spanning generations and fraught with possible setbacks. Yet, like the Monarch's, it is a journey that shall be heard, a harmony of healing crossing the tapestry of time.
