11-22mm

business of art and pez by admin

©2011 gary garbett.com
In preparation for this weekend's 43rd Street Festival of the Arts, I recently placed the order for my new business cards. With all the advancement of technology and the addition of social media, there's a good bit more text than there use to be these things. 
This year marks the 20th anniversary of the best damn art show in Richmond. Period! It's a day filled with fine food, fine music, fine art and fine folks. Come get your culture on and be sure to stop by to take a look at what I've been doing creatively. If your one of those kind that needs even more incentive than all the above goodness, …yes, I'll be giving away Pez dispensers while they last. 

Saturday, Sept. 17, 2011
10-5
Forest Hill and 43rd Street.

Come see me. I'll have a free 2" x 3.5" limited edition print waiting for you.

a thankful reflection by admin

Full Moon Claytor
©2011 gary garbett.com

There was solemnness and a revival upon departing from my vacation yesterday morning. My time away was beyond healthy and a well needed refueling for my soul. It wasn't something I jotted down on my to-do list while I was away. It just happened. Seemed almost ironic with the decade commemoration of 9/11 being played out around our country and the world.

Perhaps my deciding to take the long way home was an attempt to extend my vacation a bit, but traveling along the Blue Ridge Parkway with the windows down and the roof open was more about reflection rather than delaying my return to the real world. It was a time of emotion and celebration as I thought of the day that changed so many lives ten years earlier and on a day that looked so similar to the one I was experiencing. The air was fresh. The sky blue, and the sun warmed my skin with its touch. I drove through the beautiful panoramas, stopping from time to time just to live in the moment, knowing I have a lot to be thankful for.

The end of my vacation drive found me in the parking lot of our church. I was thirty minutes late for the 5PM dedication memorial service for 9/11. I walked in with my hair a mess, wearing shorts, and my skin still warm from the hours of sunshine. Those things were trivial and just didn't matter. I listened and was touched by the stories I heard of those retelling their personal accounts from a morning ten years earlier.

I'm not sure I could have scripted this past week any better. It renewed me, gave me hope, and opened my eyes. I believe in a lot of things ...some of which even more today than I did seven days ago.

9.11.11 a good morning and a goodbye by admin

©2011 gary garbett.com

On a day that marks the ten year anniversary of such horrific memories of hatred and loss, I found myself waking to this remarkable view. No radio, television, telephones, or headlines were able to interfere with the beauty of another morning. I was surrounded by peace.

After spending the week with my cameras and my thoughts during most of the days, I'll spend this morning packing my suitcase with dirty laundry and the enormous amount of sincere life that surrounded me for seven days. This place is mind healthy and always reconnects me. Im not sure that I could honor this date in any better place, either on earth or in spirit.

Good morning and goodbye mean the same thing today. Hatred does not exist here.

kissing a painted sky and paint bank by admin

©2011 gary garbett.com

Following an early morning lead, yesterday sent me on a road trip to Paint Bank,Virginia located in the southwestern region of Virginia on Potts Mountain, just five miles from the WestVirginia border. The day was beautiful and my roadtrip equaled that along the stunning scenic two lane Virginia route 311. I can't recall ever having driven more S turns than I did through theJefferson National Forest. The vistas were gorgeous and I seemed close enoughat times to reach out and kiss the few clouds that painted the sky.

The day was a path of basics - core places, people, and moments of real lifeof real America. I received a genuine hello with sincere waves as I drove past two young mothers at a rural bus stop, waiting for their children to arrive homefrom school. I passed a field lit up from the sun. Sitting behind the harvestwas a pale yellow barn in the distance with an American flag covering theentire façade. The aromas of freshly cut grass filled the air along severalmiles, and the few General Stores I did pass were tidy, welcoming, andunlittered from excessive commercialism.

Nearly an hour after exiting I-81, I found myself approaching a 35 MPHzone. The square green sign with white letters read PAINT BANK. Less than halfa mile ahead, just past the Volunteer Fire Department, was the crossroads at route 608 were the Paint Bank General Store and the Depot Lodge share theintersection and all of downtown Paint Bank. I was greeted by hospitality in person, listened to authentic local music, snapped more than a few pictures, and made a new friend named Jeremy.

There are days when life is just beyond rich. I'm thankful for those kind of days.

the promise of a morning look by admin

©2011 gary garbett.com

After three days of deluge while tropical storm Lee made his way along I-81, I waited with a cup of coffee for the sun to rise and to see what the morning would bring. Most days, life is worth waiting for. I believe my cameras and I have a date today. More will follow after I warm my coffee.

dependent on independence and cookies by admin

©2011 gary garbett.com
As I've become older, my day to day has become busier, yet simple and my value of time is more precious than ever before. Days have never been long enough, though I make a daily effort to achieve the almighty time management balance with a far too long to-do list. This isn't a new discovery, just the facts of my independent, over achiever; need to be better than yesterday character.

My dogs are independent as well. Sort of. At least until I wake up and greet them in the morning, or when I walk in from my day at the office when they happily welcome me home, or until they hop into the truck for a ride through the countryside to the landfill, or until they become my dedicated kitchen helpers. They also have a tendency to loosen their independent nature just after letting them out before I call it a day and head to bed for a few hours of sleep. After doing their business, they rush back in from the star filled darkness and the chirping of crickets as I close and lock the door behind them. Sitting patiently near their cookie jar, side by side, they wait for my goodnight talk followed by their regimented peanut butter biscuit.

Independence has its moments and I bask in them often. At other times my independence seems to include others. This happens to make it not nearly so busy or even independent. The balance is welcomed.

61 mph and her name by admin

©2011 gary garbett.com

It's been nearly two years since my mid century mark and the celebratory used MINI Cooper purchase for having survived and lived that long. I've never had more people ask, "what's her name?" than with any other car I've ever owned. As if I don't have other things to be concerned with in my life, I've spent numerous hours over the past two years attempting to have an answer for the next person that asked. Nothing ever seemed quite right. In the mean time, the nameless six speed silver bulldog rests most days, sometimes months, under a car cover for fear of getting dusty.  Yes, I'm just like that and I never wanted her to be an everyday car. She's special and I plan to keep her that way. Now that I'm older and everyone has their day to day life to live, I have several friends that are kinda like that car. I rarely see them, but when I do, it's always a special reunion. The biggest difference is that all of my friends have names. She still doesn't.

With summer winding down, my 6AM morning commute today couldn't have been much better. It included a rare drive in the MINI, a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee, an open roof with stars and a crisp breeze, and a stellar soundtrack from the cd that I picked out as I headed towards the door, Derek and the Dominos. That was it. The stars aligned at 61 mph while I sang to the Clapton classics, pausing only for another sip from the steaming mug and to turn up the volume a notch or two. Hell, maybe even three. The wait was over and she finally has a name. Layla.

Perfect, now to find a project for my upcoming year 53.