An Incident of Birth

I was originally going to write my blog today on manual deformation modeling and the geodetic measuring, since I have been indulging in a bit of extracurricular reading in Volcano Cowboys and found some interesting correlations between the reliance on field observation in volcanology and the skills needed by visual artists, particularly those who do installation work. However, in honor of my rebirth in a new job here at the National Assembly of State Arts Agencies, I have decided to grace you with the true story of my birth (some of you may know it already):

Picture this, November 28, 1974 at 9am in Southern Virginia – Thanksgiving Day. Two men, scraggly and tired drive up a country road in a Maroon Buick Apollo, weaving slightly at 75 MPH, tires screeching around corners as they go hunting for wild turkey. They slam on the breaks outside of the country liquor store, a sign bringing them up short, “CLOSED”- Thanksgiving morning, no wild turkey to warm their bones with liquid fire.

Exasperation is evident on the passenger’s face, anger on the driver. He guns the engine, preparing to peel away from the blasphemy of a closed liquor store. Simultaneously, 20 feet behind the car, a giant bird - 5’ tall, black and gray striped, delicate red ring around her eyes- emerges from the forest: a real Wild Turkey!

The engine gunned, the tires squealed, the bird screamed leaning forward in its heightened panic. And from behind, with a pop like a cork from a bottle of shaken champagne, an egg flies forth at incredible speed. The air sizzles around it as friction tears apart air molecules and the fabric of space/time itself. In silence, the egg disappears.

November 17, mid afternoon, a pretty young woman and her husband sit upon a porch swing speaking quietly of the future and kids. All of a sudden there is a loud sound, as if the hands of a thousand gods clapped all at once. And from the other end of the porch, an egg- the color of Betelgeuse- appears, bounces once on the end of the porch, cracks, bounces again and separates into two large halves. Emerging from the shell, a small baby boy, who rolls once, hits the welcome mat, flips up and unto the lap of the woman, my mother.

Eric in a Word: tripudiate
Book of the Day: The Elegant Universe- Brian Greene
Song of the Day: Birds of Fire- Mahavishnu Orchestra
Sketch medium: graphite on paper (actual size 2" x 4.5")

1 comment:

The Jilly said...

This reminds me of: Chuck Norris exists only because he kicked a man so hard that he flew back in time and fell in love with his mother.