CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

  Maybe it was the many years that moved along, but Frank had learned the art to stopping. Taking a few moments to observe the passing of life. A sense of vulnerability causing him to be more introspective of what he saw. Frank found the Simon Mall a great place for people watching. Sculptures of circles hung from high ceilings adding high style and class. The chairs in the center areas comfortable. He enjoyed them more in these later years. Kiosks lined the walkways spicing up the offering of brand stores.  One day, Frank sat in his usual chair. Mall walkers passing by in each direction, except for one where a kiosk blocked full view. On the other side he spotted an Indian looking man, slight of build, dressed in earthy colors, neatly worn, shirt buttoned.  He looked the part of a dedicated office or backroom store worker. You imagine things, about people. Frank thought, he did not look like someone who went to the bar with others after work or played in the company golf tournament. H

  They say that when you begin to see the end of your life, you pause pulling together what you have left. Trying to hang on, to be open for renewal, to get one more chance to live vibrantly.  You can see this with malls who have seen their best years, ones on the way to being dead malls. The growing number of store fronts shuttered, halls empty. The mall tries to keep things alive, image and all.  A quiet descends on these dying malls, the chatter of roaming shoppers now stilled. The only noise the sweeping of the floors.

  Finding art is the suburbs is hard. Burb bashing is a popular sport. They push nature aside, leaving sprawl in their wake. They all start out unique, but end up the same. People complain that the only culture found in these places are malls, gas stations, and chain restaurants. It's a car centric life that can lead to loneliness and isolation, Gone are community spirit replaced by conformity and monotony.  Still It is this sameness that can lead to deeper dives into self and awareness for the unique. The rare different site or pattern that stands out or the imagined thought leading to artful finds. Finding art in the burbs is hard, but you can find it,  and more importantly yourself…

  "Life is full of different things that we are constantly trying to connect to make sense of it all...."  Arturo Herrera ART 21 Magazine

A small deserted building on Tryon doesn’t seem like much, until you stop for a moment. Tryon Street runs through the heart of Charlotte. Once known as the “Indian Trading Path” linking the Catawba Indian Nation to the Iroquois 800 miles to the north. Later it became a key artery of commerce known as the “Great Wagon Road.” It was named after Col. William Tryon, the Royal Governor of North Carolina in the 1700’s. Little has changed regarding the importance of the road to Charlotte, except how quickly you come upon the city core from the south. Giant buildings rapidly stepping ever south with legs of steel and glass, crushing the old along the way, or simply leaping over areas still fighting for their existence like the belt of low income housing. It is rare to find a building left behind in all this, but once in a while you come upon one such as 342 South Tryon. A small garage long closed. The owners name faded away. Still the building causes you to pause, it wears the beauty marks

  Not sure you would classify all the roadways of the South as “blue highways,” but so many meet the definition of less traveled. Roads made charming by forest and beautiful farms. All the time curving their way between. They branch out from the cities to small towns and an uncountable number of even smaller places, just names on a map. Names like Anvil Rock, Red Hill, Bethune, Buffalo Lick, White Buff, Liberty Hill, and Stoneboro. Most turn out to just be wide spots in the road, but they pull at your curiosity and imagination. You only find a paragraph or two about these places and images are even harder to understand. So you get in your car and go searching. The Bible even talks about “broad places” along a path where people stopped and sought refuge from straits of various kind. After you have driven the long miles it takes to get to these wide spots, you begin to understand.  Still you always find something of interest, a picturesque building or open field, the end of a rail line,