Inspiration

Italy has Michelangelo’ and Bernini’s Davids, France has Rodin’s The Thinker, Washington DC has French’s Lincoln, and Eastern Oregon has Logs to Frogs. What started as a community’s unique way to capitalize on its nickname, Muddyfrogwater, has turned into a contest of creativity. These chainsaw artists are sculpting a lot more than hopping green amphibians these days.

Although I have driven by the event many times, this was the first year that I spontaneously stopped and walked around the booths. Mid-afternoon was much less crowded than when I had driven by in the other direction that morning so it was enjoyable to stroll around and take pictures. Each craftsman was engrossed in his work (Don't even think it, D.; I prefer you keep all your digits!) and no one tried to sell me anything. Grandstands were available for any who wanted to linger and a few finished items were scattered around with price tags attached or marked as items for the evening auction.

It always fascinates me how sculptors can take a lump of clay, or rock, or wood and fashion something beautiful, moving, or intriguing.

This year there was an abundance of bears and eagles as I went through, but one renegade artist was carving a couple turtles that I would have loved to have while another focused on island motifs such as a palm tree.

This character is a great representative of the modern Old West, don’t you think?

I think we are all sculptors when it comes to our own lives. Whether we start out with a master plan or spontaneously look for inspiration in the medium, or both, we are responsible for the outcome. Through our goals and our choices we gouge and carve and scrape our way through life, honing and smoothing our skills, beliefs, and values as we go. Sometimes the environment or media is difficult to pierce, dulling our senses and spoiling our vision, but how we adjust and persevere is what determines the shape of the final product.

Artists are seldom completely satisfied with their work, but I think we need to move beyond our flaws and consider, instead the journey. How did I respond to grains of adversity, to knotholes of selfishness, to unforeseen imperfections in the raw material I was given? What did my design bring to others? What did I learn? What difference did I make? And always: What’s next?