I
came across some old, forgotten Tonka trucks while salvage searching
last week.
Made
from metal and rubber, with minimal plastic, these were the ones that
were
designed
to last awhile. Designed to take whatever imaginative abuse a child could
muster…in
any environment the backyard or sandbox would allow. I was struck by
their
detail, their perfect scale, and how the rust and damage made them
resemble
more
of the way trucks really looked. Especially the one’s involved in doing the
heavy
lifting,
or experiencing the driver’s great adventures. The damage made them
credible.
It
made them authentic. And because they were a child’s toy, it made them loved.
As
an artist, it’s difficult to know when you’ve peaked, when you’re
constantly
climbing
a creative mountain. The projects completed become base-camps along
the
trek. And hopefully, the people who joined you along the way were enriched
in
some
way by the journey…and you both made the mileage matter. But without a
doubt,
artist’s haven’t been given a gift, as much as a tool. A special tool,
that
allows
them to dream and build. To imagine, create and connect. And to deliver
enduring
thoughts and visuals meant to be shared long after the engine has
stopped
running. But make no mistake, the process leaves a mark. And at the
same
time it enriches the heart and the mind, it can damage the vessel.
are
supposed to age…with enough experiences, creations and stories to share
an
imaginative
existence. But still solid enough to function, wearing the scars that
make
their vibrant colors that much more interesting to study. So one by one,
I
carefully cleaned the vintage relics from a period in time less digital and
disposable.
And
as the first coat of spray lacquer hit the trucks, I realized another life
lesson
through
art. Learning to turn your rust into a beautiful patina.
There’s a name for that process, it’s called grace.
There’s a name for that process, it’s called grace.
