Maquoketa and Iowa's allure

Tuesday the 8th was one of those days. Fasting (no morning cup of coffee) because of lab work at the doctor's office, I ran off to vote followed by a visit to the bank, the grocery, and the necessary lab work. All was completed by 9AM. After a couple of errands in Madison, I was able to get to my studio by noon. In case you have any doubt, I covet time in the studio. The studio is an extension of me.

I was looking forward to spending a few hours working on new etchings that are in progress. With exhibits coming up, I am driven to get things completed. Much is going on, and I am notorious for starting new works and leaving ongoing projects in an ongoing state. At the studio, I remembered that I had told the village maintenance man that I would get in touch with him and let him in to check out a faulty water meter. Several back and forth phone calls and visits to the ailing meter, a call and visit from a neighbor who wanted to borrow a tool, and my valued studio time seemed to have evaporated.

Oil painter friend, Fred Easker had, a couple of months ago, invited me to come to Maquoketa, Iowa where he was going to be conducting a landscape painting workshop. Today was the day for my visit. After failing to get things accomplished in the studio, I left Blue Mounds by 5:30, I would arrive in Maquoketa by my expected 7:30 arrival time.

It was foggy and threatening rain when I got into my van to drive to Iowa. Fred had phoned the day before to give me directions. Maquoketa is a small town between Dubuque and Davenport. I had driven past it before but never into it. I had loaded some of my framed etchings into the van to show Fred's pupils. I also brought some etching plates and the tools that I use. I was not sure what he had in mind, and uncertainty can put me off balance.

For a couple of hours, I was to be the center of attention with Fred's painting workshop students. I don't want to tell you about what I discussed with the students, but I simply want to tell you about the place. It was a surprise and is remarkable. The Old City Hall Gallery is the studio of Charles Morris and Rose Frantzen. If you are interested, please go to their website: http://www.oldcityhallgallery.com Sometimes amazing things occur in unlikely places. I was greeted by Fred Easker and Charles Morris. Fred, who I have known for some time, is an accomplished landscape oil painter. Chuck is, who I was meeting for the first time, primarily an illustrator of children's books. Rose Frantzen was not there, but is an accomplished oil painter. She did a series of portraits of citizens called "A Portrait of Maquoketa". She painted portraits of anyone who was willing to sit for her. There is life in her paintings. An exhibit of the work is presently hanging in the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. It was, to me, a remarkable trip to a remarkable place. It was an unexpected surprise. Arthur Geisert"s etchings were on display on the walls, loose prints held in place with thumbtacks.

I drove back to Wisconsin through turbulent weather. It is a trip and a place that I simply want to let you know about.

Highlandville, Iowa

Last Friday, March 26th, I drove to Iowa again. A niece will be getting married in mid April, and I agreed to assist with a bridal shower that my wife, Pat, and my sister in law, Jean, were hosting at Jean's home. Jean and her husband have a farm outside of Decorah on Big Canoe Road. I was determined to stay in the background, helping with set up, some cooking and being available as needed. As an artist, all of the decisions having to do with every aspect of my creative work and business come from within. No one tells me what to do. It is a breath of fresh air to sometimes do what others ask. While setting up for the shower on Saturday morning, we realized that we needed ice for beverages. I got into my van and drove three miles to the Highlandville General Store. I had not been in Highlandville for over thirty years. It is a place that was pivotal in my becoming an artist. I had been to this tiny town many times during the summer of 1973. I arrived at this small store, which is on the banks of South Bear Creek. I walked up and down the aisles, experiencing strong feelings of deja vu. Getting the bags of ice out of the freezer, I walked to the check out. A man standing by the door asked me if I was coming or going. I wasn't sure how to reply to that. He told me that he was a writer from Omaha working on a magazine article on fly fishing in Highlandville and South Bear Creek. He thought I was a fisherman. I told him that the town's old hospital building had in one incarnation been an art school owned by a Luther College art professor, and that I had attended that school during the summer of '73.

The school at Highlandville was important because it was an environment where I was able to work on artwork under an instructor's guidance in day long classes over the course of several weeks during the summer. The hospital, which was a large, green house, was used as a dormitory, with the drawing and painting studio being in the attic. A pottery was in the barn out in the yard. We did life drawings in this cooled by a box fan attic every day, mornings and afternoons, as well as working outdoors on location. I did not live in the hospital dormitory but rented an old farmhouse with two friends for $75 a month. I also had employment unloading semi trailers in Decorah. I worked at this from midnight until about 4AM. Finishing work, I would go to the all night grocery store and get something to eat. I would drive out to Highlandville and sleep in the front seat of my car, an old Rambler. Someone would come out of the school in the morning and wake me up, and class would begin when I got there. After the intensive day long session, I would drive to the rented farm house, about ten miles away and sleep again until it was time to return to my night time job. These were things that flooded my mind during my short trip to Highlandville.

Back at the bridal shower, it was determined that we needed half and half for coffee. I was asked to make another trip to Highlandville and the store. Looking out in the farmyard, I pointed out the fact that there were about forty cows milling about...and you want me to drive to the store? Again, I had memories, this time of being a child at my uncle Ralph's farm outside of my home town of Hibbing, Minnesota where he would set me down on a stool beside one of his 25 cows, all named after important women from antiquity, and instruct me in the proper technique of milking a cow. Wisely, it was decided that I make another trip to Highlandville and the general store.