Consider the toppling of a majestic tree. The land remains, but is bereft of a graceful place marker, wildlife of their homes, the earth of leaves and fruit, humans of shade and a windbreak. One spreading, reaching, blooming and leafing tree provides so much, and not least of all irreplaceable beauty, energy, purpose and grace. So it is with the loss of an artist, one who sees, contemplates, records and interprets the world around us. Recently, we lost a towering presence in the genre of landscape painting.
Self Portrait. Richard Baker, artist
Richard Baker, self-taught, a master at painting our Southern Appalachian mountains, rivers, lakes and fields, lost a bravely fought battle with cancer as this issue was in production. His work graced the cover of The Laurel of Asheville in 2013, and he was a featured artist in 2017.
Richard was generous with his time and talents. He loved to ask those who weren’t exploring their creativity, “Well, who’s in your way?” He shared freely his knowledge, his techniques, his experiences. He enjoyed bringing people together. His well-attended Artists Breakfasts in Saluda, Asheville and Waynesville drew poets and writers, painters and sculptors, jewelry makers and fiber artists, and people who weren’t creators themselves but loved to talk about art and to support and patronize artists.
More personally, he was the love of my life for the last 15 years. What Richard would want me to say here is that natural beauty is all around us, waiting to be explored, to be represented by whatever medium speaks to you. I was already a writer when we met, and still he helped me see the world in new ways. He was always pointing out the details: intricate textures, the blending of colors present in all things (snow isn’t white, you know); cloud shadows on a mountain, the way the light moves across a field. We loved together the simple things: watching lightning bugs, birds and, occasionally, elk from our back porch; hiking to find waterfalls; driving the back roads without a map or GPS; waiting for autumn to start dappling the mountainsides or spring green to begin crawling from the bases. We found loveliness and sacredness everywhere. Moments were precious. We did not squander them.
That’s the only thing that makes my life without Richard bearable: the memories, the sense of having made the best use of the time we had. “These are the good days, you know,” Richard would often turn to me and say.
October Rain. Richard Baker, artist
Maya Angelou’s beautiful poem “When Great Trees Fall” ends this way: “And when great souls die,/after a period peace blooms,/slowly and always/irregularly. Spaces fill/with a kind of/soothing electric vibration./Our senses, restored, never/to be the same, whisper to us./They existed. They existed./We can be. Be and be/better. For they existed.” Yes.
This is the month for contemplation and family togetherness. In these pages, you’ll find many expressions of gratitude and many events touching on thankfulness to put on your fall calendar.
It’s a busy season, and it may seem there isn’t time to set aside for creating. But think about the recent cuts to funding for the arts. I’ve lived long enough to know that if someone wants to take it away, it must be significant. So take up brush, pencil, needle; open your eyes, your mind, your heart.
Play with clay and with cloth, on paper and on canvas. “It’s just messing up and fixing,” Richard always said of painting.
After all, and when all is said and done, who’s in your way?
Gina Malone can be reached at gina@thelaurelofasheville.com
