Vision

Creations

Author’s Note: This piece is intentionally published without an accompanying visual image.

Two thin ropes were yanked. The black cloth fell to the steps.

Bernard Autmun silently mouthed his last name, then looked at the cloth: pitch, draped over smooth beige stone.

The school, the prestigious, world-renowned school, named a red brick arts building after him, something unfathomable to a young, brash, war-protesting “Burn Autmen.”

He cleared an emotional throat, gave a few brief remarks, possibly repeating the words Thank You more times in five minutes than he had in his entire academic career.

As he stepped from the podium, listening to applause more often bestowed upon musicians and sports figures, a young man introduced himself and asked if he might ask a few questions for the University Herald.

“Professor, you’ve taught artists who have gone on to win two Guggenheims, a Duchamp, half a dozen Grand Rapids Art Prizes. Do you have a favorite?”

The expected response, of course, was that it would be impossible to pick a favorite, followed by a rambling discourse on the nature of art, perfect for filling up the column space the student needed to fill.

“Yes,” Bernard Autmun said.

The student reporter’s eyebrows raised.

“She won no awards, “ Bernard continued. “None I’m aware of.”

“She worked in textiles, fabrics, a bit of wire, making gnomes and sprites and small mythical creatures, camouflaging them in various garden settings, some that existed on campus, some that she cultivated herself. “

Bernard looked around the small square in front of the building with its flagstone walkways and petite evergreen shrubs.

“She dyed the fabrics herself, taking great care to match the natural hues of the plants among which her creatures would reside.”

The professor clasped his hands behind his back, continuing as the reporter opened his mouth to ask another question.

“She was too good, really. Her creations were difficult to discern, even at short distances.In photos, they were nearly impossible to find.”

“Where is she now, Professor? What’s her name? Do you keep in touch with her?”

“Unlike many of my students, she and I do not correspond. Honestly, I think she delighted in people’s frustrations when they couldn’t see a piece she had created unless they were standing nearly on top of it. I don’t feel comfortable divulging her name. I don’t know what became of her.”

“What, specifically, did you like about her work, Professor?”

Bernard Autmun turned, looked at his name in steel on the building that had stood for over a century. Looked at the young man, approximately the same age he was when he walked onto the campus for the first time.

“The remarkable achievement of her work is that to this day, when I walk the campus, I look around to see if I can spot any of her creations. I wholeheartedly suggest that you do the same.”

***