I wrote this letter a couple weeks ago and forgot to mail it to you... sorry for the delay. But the loss of that amount of time doesn't phase you much for it's been almost 220 years since your funeral. And Knoxville, which was named after you, has changed quite a bit. But, of course you wouldn't know that because you never visited our beautiful Tennessee valley! Sorry. I'm trying hard not to hold a grudge. It was probably James White's fault anyway for trying to get on your good side (do Secretary's of War have a good side?)
Well, I doubt anyone has written you lately, let alone someone to tell you about what his wife has done this week. But what she did, she did in your city of Knoxville. And your county of Knox.
She painted.
Now don't be disappointed. It's not like being the President's buddy or having your image on an eight cent stamp or having your own personal library in Boston (I'll bet you visited there, I say sarcastically). But the joy she felt will give and give and give to others well beyond the memory of you and I! The flow of Sandy Bottom Creek and the captured blooms from the UT Garden. Six Silos by the road on the way to Corryton. And a whitewashed barn once used for hanging tobacco.
Hank, (may I call you Hank?) you'd dig this woman! I know you and Lucy had thirteen kids, which tells me that you enjoyed your wife too. But I mean it in a different way. Put a paint brush in Kathie's hand and magic happens: Seventy-nine year old farmers start talking about their mothers that used to paint with oils. Between canvases, ladies named Margaret ask you in for a chicken salad sandwich. Gardeners tell you about how hard life is with a three year old.
Most importantly the creative magic of art wins the day... in the souls of people.
But most, most, most importantly, the creative magic of art placed in her soul... is winning the soul of me.
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| Silo Field 8x16, Oil on Linen |
