Some years ago, I opened a studio located near the Cuyahoga Valley National Park in NE Ohio. Although I dreamed of having my own studio for years, this was more or less an impulse act. The very small space became available and I grabbed the opportunity. My intention was to hold metaphysical classes, sell my art, and hopefully make enough money to at least pay the rent.
When it came time to give my space a name, I did not hesitate even for a moment. Moonflower Studio, inspired by a man who loved nature more than anything.
He was an artist but not once referred to himself as such. What he saw in nature was reflected in his fungus and wood carvings but his creative talent came through in his walking sticks — detailed, carved, painted and adorned with feathers and beads.
This man was my father. My father did not harm or cut down young trees.
He found the sticks on the forest floor or among the over populated areas where the weaker young trees sacrificed themselves in order to allow room and sustenance for the strong trees to continue to grow. He once told me that he could envision exactly what should be carved on each and every stick, telling its story for everyone to see. He didn’t care about making money. He didn’t want any part of art on assignment. Each stick was a memory of the time he spent in the woods and that was his inspiration.
My father had a great sense of humor. He told his share of “Dad jokes” and at times got a laugh at the expense of my mother but he also enjoyed stopping by my house when I wasn’t home to plant flowers in my yard. Shovel in hand, sneaking around, planting quickly. It wasn’t just my yard, ask my brothers. These were plants found mostly on the side of the road or in the woods. He was the Johnny Appleseed of suburbia. Lilies, ferns, white daisies, and black-eyed Susans. He would never confess but that twinkle in his eye gave him away.
One day the moonflowers appeared on the side of my house.
He knew I was a child of the moon. He told me I would stand outside and sing to the moon when I was three years old. He thought he was doing me a favor planting those flowers of the night and even though I never told him, he was right.
My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and I shut down the studio to help my parents with daily activities. I do not regret this for a moment. Spending that time with my dad was a gift. He passed away a few years ago but before he died, he made enough walking sticks for each grandchild and great grandchild. Nothing made him happier than giving neighbors, friends, and family a piece of his hand-crafted art. He was not Richard the lion-hearted as he often mused. He was Richard the kindhearted as his art came from the heart.
The moonflowers in my yard have since died off but one Mother’s Day, I received a bag of moonflower seeds from my son Joshua. As my dad would say, the gift that keep’s on giving. My dad is the gift that keeps on giving – his art, his love of nature, his kindness, his humor, and his flowers.
I dedicate Moonflower Studio to my father Richard, with love.