Roanoke Times Online Archives

ARTIST TREES THE PAST

Date: July 1, 1999 Section: EXTRA Page: 1

By MADELYN ROSENBERG THE ROANOKE TIMES
Rex Hartson was digging a hole for his shed, pummelling his way into the red clay and crumbling limestone with an auger, when he came upon a layer of ash.
He climbed down from his tractor and rubbed the charcoal grit between his fingers. Then, a feeling, warm as the campfire that had once burned in this spot, came upon him: Someone had been here before. Several someones.
Hartson is not given to visions, and he isn't calling this one, either. "It could be an overactive imagination," he said.
But for a moment, it was as if those who had been here before - American Indians, he reasoned - had said "OK, we're glad you're here. We'll share this with you." And then the feeling was gone. Hartson went on digging. But in his mind, something had changed.
After that, he started learning more about the people who had been on the land before him - hunters, probably, because his land is far from water. Shawnees and perhaps a few Cherokee. He and long-time companion Rieky Kerris became involved with university projects pertaining to American Indians, then a group called Rebirth of a Nation. At their Episcopalian church in Blacksburg, they started a ministry, collecting food and winter clothing for Indians in South Dakota and other regions.
And they started putting reminders of those people in the thick woods they own that cover more than 25 acres near the Newport community of Giles County.
The reminders were little at first.
A piece of slate with a painting portraying a Navaho vision dance.
Masks.
A Kwakiutl hawk.
Hartson's first piece was actually more folk art than anything else: He took an orange scarf he had bought on Queen's Day in Amsterdam, Netherlands, and tied it around the neck of a creature-like log. With acrylic paints, he added eyes and a mouth, fading now like old lipstick. "We call him Cecil," Hartson said.
A year and a half ago, he approached Blacksburg artist Larry Bechtel about creating something bigger.
Hartson works at Tech, a professor of computer science. Bechtel also works at Tech, head of recycling there. They had brushed up against one another's work time and time again. Bechtel had asked Hartson, a photographer, to take some photos for him. Hartson had asked Bechtel, a former English professor, for editing help. Hartson had also read about a carving Bechtel had done in front of the Church of the Brethren in Blacksburg 10 years ago. He had heard about the sculpture when it was stolen.
Keeris' parents had taken photos of the sculpture when they visited from the Netherlands that year. When their daughter told them the sculpture had been stolen, they sent their photos to Bechtel.
So by the time Hartson noted that a proud ash tree on his property had only a few branches left that were retaining leaves, he knew who to call.
"I thought it a shame that it would not live on in some sort of way," Hartson said. Bechtel, who has a way with dead trees and has been carving them for 15 years now, came and looked at the ash, at its branches and angles and knobs.
He studied it again and again before he decided to sculpt what he calls "The Ancestor Tree."
He sketched it first on paper, then on the tree.
"I had all these plans and damn if I didn't do something different right off the bat," he said. Using a small chain saw to create curved faces, hands and legs, he worked his way up the tree, following the wood. This knot became a knee. That knot became a nose.
"I wanted to use all hand tools," Bechtel said, imagining their drumming echoing in the woods. But it was hard to carve with an axe while the tree was standing up. The chain saw worked better for the curves.
Standing in front of the tree, sawdust still covering the ground, Hartson tries out some interpretations. "Each generation on the tree is lifting the next," he suggests.
Bechtel lets his work be interpreted, and says little about what it means. But the bug-eyed creature at the top gives him pleasure. As do the contours of the tree.
"I like shapes," he said. "Just plain shapes."
It took a year and a half and three layers of scaffolding to carve the tree, top to bottom.
"Life out here has to be different from life on the job," Hartson explained. "No planning, no scheduling. I told Larry, 'I don't care if you ever finish.'"
But he did. This spring, there was a dedication, in which Hartson described the tree as a symbol, "honoring two Native American Traditions. First, it is a symbol of our stewardship of God's bounty in preserving this land. It is also a symbol of spirituality through art."
Hartson says he's not trying to turn the woods into a gallery or some kind of theme park. He's just adding a few surprises.
On the shed that started it all, there is a tattered explainer: "Art in the forest is a celebration of our relationship to God and the earth," it begins. Next to the sign, a bumper sticker: "Love Your Mother."
As they walk through the woods, Hartson and Bechtel stop often to admire nature's own art: a tree, lovingly sculpted by an itinerant woodpecker, a husk of a hickory nut, a forgotten feather, the bones of a deer. A great white oak tree, taller still than the ash, reaches for the sky.
Hartson cleared out a few of the surrounding trees so it wouldn't have any competition, "to give it its last dance."
And then there is the man-made art: a yellow-eyed statue Bechtel made out of Sculpey, a colored clay, dubbed "He Who Lingered Long in the Trees," pointing east to face the sun. ("His skin is a little cracked," Hartson said. "But aren't we all?") There is a piece of quartz, painted, on the dull side, to look like a box turtle.
From time to time, a face will stare back at him from the trees - a carved face, by artist Jay Burnett.
"I did three carvings," Burnett recalled. "Two that he knew where they were going to be. I hid one he had to find out in the trees."
This was not the first time Burnett, who lives in Roanoke where he has a booth called "Old Man in the Wood," on the market, has made a house call.
"A lot of folks will have a tree or just a stump, that I'll go out and carve on," he said.
Their reasons are sometimes the same as Hartson's: "to add a little more mystery to some of his land."
Not all of the art remains intact. A ceramic fish is broken, crushed by a wayward deer.
"Outdoor art is going to deteriorate," Hartson said with a shrug.
But for the ash tree, he and Bechtel used a little wood preservative.
And they may find other ways to preserve it still, before nature takes it back.
Hartson may set up a concrete block and mount the tree on that, to protect it.
He wants to let nature do her thing, he said. But he's become attached to the piece. "I don't want to be too ethereal."
Madelyn Rosenberg can be reached at 981-3230 or madelynr@roanoke.com
Caption: photo - MATT GENTRYTHE ROANOKE TIMES. 1. Larry Bechtel
and Rex Hartson pose in front of a 30-foot tree trunk that Bechtel
carved with a chain saw on land that Hartson owns near Newport in
Giles County. 2. An explanatory sign on the side of a shed says "Art
in the forest is a celebration of our relationship to God and the
earth." 3. A figure entitled "Cecil" sits by the road to a building
site on Rex Hartson's land in Newport. Cecil was the first piece to
be created and installed on the property. 4. A carved figure of a
woods gnome lurks on Rex Hartson's land. 5. This figure tops of of
the branches of the totem tree that Larry Bechtel carved with a
chain saw. 6. "Navajo Vision Dance" is part of the forest art
exhibition. 7. Artist Larry Bechtel explains the motivation for his
30-foot tree carving. 8. This "Kwakiutl Hawk" figure sits beside a
forest path. 9. - 10. Photos courtesy of Rex Hartson. These
photographs show the dying tree from which the totem sculture was
made (left), and the scaffolding required so the artist could do his
work. color. Graphic - color map by RT.

All content herein is © 1997 Times-World Corp. and may not be republished without permission.
The Roanoke Times Online is a service of The Roanoke Times.

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ARTIST TREES THE PAST Date: July 1, 1999 Section: EXTRA Page: 1 By MADELYN ROSENBERG THE ROANOKE TIMES Rex Hartson was digging a hole for his shed, pummelling his way into the red clay and crumbling limestone with an auger, when he came upon a layer of ash. He climbed down from his tractor and rubbed the charcoal grit between his fingers. Then, a feeling, warm as the campfire that had once burned in this spot, came upon him: Someone had been here before. Several someones. Hartson is not given to visions, and he isn't calling this one, either. "It could be an overactive imagination," he said. But for a moment, it was as if those who had been here before - American Indians, he reasoned - had said "OK, we're glad you're here. We'll share this with you." And then the feeling was gone. Hartson went on digging. But in his mind, something had changed. After that, he started learning more about the people who had been on the land before him - hunters, probably, because his land is far from water. Shawnees and perhaps a few Cherokee. He and long-time companion Rieky Kerris became involved with university projects pertaining to American Indians, then a group called Rebirth of a Nation. At their Episcopalian church in Blacksburg, they started a ministry, collecting food and winter clothing for Indians in South Dakota and other regions. And they started putting reminders of those people in the thick woods they own that cover more than 25 acres near the Newport community of Giles County. The reminders were little at first. A piece of slate with a painting portraying a Navaho vision dance. Masks. A Kwakiutl hawk. Hartson's first piece was actually more folk art than anything else: He took an orange scarf he had bought on Queen's Day in Amsterdam, Netherlands, and tied it around the neck of a creature-like log. With acrylic paints, he added eyes and a mouth, fading now like old lipstick. "We call him Cecil," Hartson said. A year and a half ago, he approached Blacksburg artist Larry Bechtel about creating something bigger. Hartson works at Tech, a professor of computer science. Bechtel also works at Tech, head of recycling there. They had brushed up against one another's work time and time again. Bechtel had asked Hartson, a photographer, to take some photos for him. Hartson had asked Bechtel, a former English professor, for editing help. Hartson had also read about a carving Bechtel had done in front of the Church of the Brethren in Blacksburg 10 years ago. He had heard about the sculpture when it was stolen. Keeris' parents had taken photos of the sculpture when they visited from the Netherlands that year. When their daughter told them the sculpture had been stolen, they sent their photos to Bechtel. So by the time Hartson noted that a proud ash tree on his property had only a few branches left that were retaining leaves, he knew who to call. "I thought it a shame that it would not live on in some sort of way," Hartson said. Bechtel, who has a way with dead trees and has been carving them for 15 years now, came and looked at the ash, at its branches and angles and knobs. He studied it again and again before he decided to sculpt what he calls "The Ancestor Tree." He sketched it first on paper, then on the tree. "I had all these plans and damn if I didn't do something different right off the bat," he said. Using a small chain saw to create curved faces, hands and legs, he worked his way up the tree, following the wood. This knot became a knee. That knot became a nose. "I wanted to use all hand tools," Bechtel said, imagining their drumming echoing in the woods. But it was hard to carve with an axe while the tree was standing up. The chain saw worked better for the curves. Standing in front of the tree, sawdust still covering the ground, Hartson tries out some interpretations. "Each generation on the tree is lifting the next," he suggests. Bechtel lets his work be interpreted, and says little about what it means. But the bug-eyed creature at the top gives him pleasure. As do the contours of the tree. "I like shapes," he said. "Just plain shapes." It took a year and a half and three layers of scaffolding to carve the tree, top to bottom. "Life out here has to be different from life on the job," Hartson explained. "No planning, no scheduling. I told Larry, 'I don't care if you ever finish.'" But he did. This spring, there was a dedication, in which Hartson described the tree as a symbol, "honoring two Native American Traditions. First, it is a symbol of our stewardship of God's bounty in preserving this land. It is also a symbol of spirituality through art." Hartson says he's not trying to turn the woods into a gallery or some kind of theme park. He's just adding a few surprises. On the shed that started it all, there is a tattered explainer: "Art in the forest is a celebration of our relationship to God and the earth," it begins. Next to the sign, a bumper sticker: "Love Your Mother." As they walk through the woods, Hartson and Bechtel stop often to admire nature's own art: a tree, lovingly sculpted by an itinerant woodpecker, a husk of a hickory nut, a forgotten feather, the bones of a deer. A great white oak tree, taller still than the ash, reaches for the sky. Hartson cleared out a few of the surrounding trees so it wouldn't have any competition, "to give it its last dance." And then there is the man-made art: a yellow-eyed statue Bechtel made out of Sculpey, a colored clay, dubbed "He Who Lingered Long in the Trees," pointing east to face the sun. ("His skin is a little cracked," Hartson said. "But aren't we all?") There is a piece of quartz, painted, on the dull side, to look like a box turtle. From time to time, a face will stare back at him from the trees - a carved face, by artist Jay Burnett. "I did three carvings," Burnett recalled. "Two that he knew where they were going to be. I hid one he had to find out in the trees." This was not the first time Burnett, who lives in Roanoke where he has a booth called "Old Man in the Wood," on the market, has made a house call. "A lot of folks will have a tree or just a stump, that I'll go out and carve on," he said. Their reasons are sometimes the same as Hartson's: "to add a little more mystery to some of his land." Not all of the art remains intact. A ceramic fish is broken, crushed by a wayward deer. "Outdoor art is going to deteriorate," Hartson said with a shrug. But for the ash tree, he and Bechtel used a little wood preservative. And they may find other ways to preserve it still, before nature takes it back. Hartson may set up a concrete block and mount the tree on that, to protect it. He wants to let nature do her thing, he said. But he's become attached to the piece. "I don't want to be too ethereal." Madelyn Rosenberg can be reached at 981-3230 or madelynr@roanoke.com Caption: photo - MATT GENTRYTHE ROANOKE TIMES. 1. Larry Bechtel and Rex Hartson pose in front of a 30-foot tree trunk that Bechtel carved with a chain saw on land that Hartson owns near Newport in Giles County. 2. An explanatory sign on the side of a shed says "Art in the forest is a celebration of our relationship to God and the earth." 3. A figure entitled "Cecil" sits by the road to a building site on Rex Hartson's land in Newport. Cecil was the first piece to be created and installed on the property. 4. A carved figure of a woods gnome lurks on Rex Hartson's land. 5. This figure tops of of the branches of the totem tree that Larry Bechtel carved with a chain saw. 6. "Navajo Vision Dance" is part of the forest art exhibition. 7. Artist Larry Bechtel explains the motivation for his 30-foot tree carving. 8. This "Kwakiutl Hawk" figure sits beside a forest path. 9. - 10. Photos courtesy of Rex Hartson. These photographs show the dying tree from which the totem sculture was made (left), and the scaffolding required so the artist could do his work. color. Graphic - color map by RT.


All content herein is © 1997 Times-World Corp. and may not be republished without permission. The Roanoke Times Online is a service of The Roanoke Times.