A Piece of Art

For several months, a piece of renegade art mounted to a power pole magnetized my attention whenever Elmer and I passed it on our morning walks.

I wanted this black stencil of a woman wearing a striped dress painted over a watercolor background on a piece of 10”x 20” piece of particleboard that had seen earlier life as a piece of furniture or cabinetry. The application of the stencil had been perfectly executed—no drips or splotches.

The artist mounted the piece with a drill and star screws and too high for anyone to simply pull it off by hand or apply a crowbar for leverage. You would need a step ladder or perhaps an overturned bucket to reach it.

A creative mind of considerable cunning force was at work here; if I wanted the painting, I'd have to devise a plan and stage an operation.

It wouldn't be theft; it seemed all part of the artistic concept. Why else mount this groovy piece of art on a obscure side street decorated with blackberries and potholes? The power pole overlooked apartments, a highway safety equipment manufacturer and a pickup, van and canned ham trailer where various homeless men lived. There was something of sly social commentary in the placement going on, at least in my mind, which is all that mattered.

Every time I passed the painting, my mind returned to my ex wife, Cindy, a visual artist of incredible talent and range, but virtually indifferent of doing the frustrating dance with gallery owners, something you had to do if you wanted shows.

In the years after graduating from a Portland art school, Cindy gave away much of her art she had by hanging paintings, some of them framed and oils (!) from fire escapes in the then-lightly trafficked northwest sections of downtown. If someone saw them from the street or a nearby building, and wanted possession, then a daredevil was required to make it happen.

I marveled at Cindy's system of distribution and drew upon its inspiration when I began giving my authored books away for free in street libraries and dive bars all across Oregon.

As it turned out, that strategy led me to find some of my greatest readers.

There is something very, very powerful about giving away your art for free to strangers. You never know where that generosity will lead.

The question remained...how am I going to procure this coveted piece of art on a walk with the dog? For some reason, the thought of driving over to it with the necessary tools felt sneaky, abhorrent.

At roughly 5:45 in the morning, Elmer and I traversed a boulevard across the street from a fire station. It was a sultry morning, orange cirrus clouds decorated the sky.

I looked left and there was Jacob from the Old Crow Book Club. I was glad to see him. The last time we talked he told me he might be going back to jail for violating his probation. His new offense was a DUI with no license or insurance. He'd taken the wheel for his mother who was too drunk to drive home from a wedding they both attended.

Jacob saw me, yelled my name, and waved. I hailed him. He sprinted across the boulevard to meet me even though there was no traffic. It's a nice feeling when someone runs to meet you and you see them running toward you. All of us need to experience more of that in our lives.

We shook hands and he gave Elmer a pat on the head. Since he was standing in front of me that meant he wasn't in jail so I didn't ask about that. I did ask where he was living. He told me he was sleeping a block away in a tiny section along Chrystal Springs Creek surrounded on all sides by concrete and roads. He was staying there temporarily with a friend who camped by himself.

Jacob gave me the rundown on other members of the book club and it was grim news for everyone but Mark, who was doing well in a Safe Rest Village.

Standing there, with Elmer tugging slightly on the leash, a definitely Great Notion overcame me: hire Jacob to score the painting!

I pitched the job and offered $25 and the use of my star wrench set. Jacob was game. I said the wrench and cash would be inside an envelope left on my front porch in two hours. Swing by then. I said he might need a step ladder or bucket.

Jacob looked at me as if I'd made the dumbest suggestion in the world.

“I'll figure it out, he said. “There's always shit to use all over the place.”

That sounded like an excellent philosophy on how to live one's life when mass consumption is killing souls and the planet.

Jacob went his way and Elmer and I headed toward the park.

A giddiness sunk in: I had just hired a homeless man to “procure” a piece of street art! A goddamn righteous creative mission!

Eight hours elapsed and the envelope was untouched.

There was no way Jacob would let me down; he had always delivered in the past on a host of errands and communications on behalf of my efforts to assist the neighborhood's homeless population.

Towards five in afternoon, I checked the porch again. The envelope was gone!

An hour later I checked the porch and the piece of art was standing upright in the basket beside the wrench set.

Fifteen minutes later, the painting was hanging on the wall in my living room.