20 March 2020. Dad's Mallet (drawing itself from 14 March).
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My father's strength--I think that's the point here. But also my love for him. The way he found life beautiful and important. Always with a certain Oscar spirit--a child could depend on this. Maybe only the times when business at Walters was unsettled, and he'd jiggle the change in his pocket, which made me wish dearly for the old ways...
He carved this mallet at the bench in the Oceanside garage. Something necessary--something to work with--a tool for his sculpture. Self-evident, that. But what's hidden here is the living branch--or rather, what's revealed. You see it in the way he handled the joint--allowing for the handle on one side (following the natural form of the wood) and the truncated mallet head on the other.
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Last night, on Solano, at the intersection at Masonic--that no-man's land where the Bart tracks run above. There's Doug, across the way, standing in his hooded greatcoat, next to piled shopping cart, under the dry cleaner's street lamp, shaping something with a hammer. Street absolutely empty. I hear each blow.
Creators all. May we work in health and peace...
