A muggy afternoon at the fort. The ocean is the color of an olive—green or black—take your pick. I sit on a driftwood stump and compose this.
I added decorative flourishes to the fort and read new messages—almost a dozen. All of them expressed gratitude to the builder. One said her boyfriend had brought her here to see the fort and leave a message. They were on a date and the date was to visit a fort and leave a message. Must be love!
Pelicans dive into the ocean. Gulls do their gull thing. Sandpipers snooze at the wrack line. There might be a few humans in the surf but I am oblivious to their presence.
On my way to the fort, I found a stick of beaverwood and plan to add it to my collection. I have conceived of of an art show where I display my beaverwood collection in a pop-up gallery and offer the sculptures for sale. I’ll split the profits with my collaborators. I see the bleached wood mounted on white walls with an artist statement from me and the beavers. The emphasis of the show is the aesthetic qualities of the gnawed wood—not so much the wondrous ecology of beaverwood and beavers in general. This is art, not science! This is mystery, not gravity, although the gravity inherent in watersheds is the reason I find beaverwood on the beach.
I want to call the show: The Beauty of Beaverwood: An Artistic Collaboration Between an Oregonian and Oregon Coast Beavers.
Have I lost my mind with this idea? Or have I entered a new stage of my creative life?
Question? What do I charge for the sculptures?