William Lawrence Salisbury,  Sculptor  /   Artist  .....  Born ; 10/9/49, Syracuse, NY                           

Contact E-mail-- my3crows@hughes.net              

 


Recent Works as of    10/02/15

Standing Bear Vane Video

Standing Bear Weathervane

 Video                           Muskie Link   

Muskie 's last photo

 "Tree of Knowledge"

   Video

Installed "Tree"

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 Recent articles;    http://www.thousandislandslife.com/BackIssues/Archive/tabid/393/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/1442/Will-Salisbury-Making-Waves.aspx 

 http://www.thousandislandslife.com/BackIssues/Archive/tabid/393/articleType/ArticleView/articleId/1407/The-Library-grows-a-tree.aspx

                        Written Work, Book Covers...

Book Covers: 

"African Identities", The Rwanda Genocide, Special Issue.     This Sculpture, titled: "Rwanda" was seen on this Web Site by a group of professors from South Africa and Australia.  They publish this Periodical on Genocide quarterly and requested I re-photograph The sculpture in Black and White and obtained  the publishing rights for their special issue. 

 We spoke on the phone a few times and I am Proud that this work is a powerful symbol. 1/28/11   Keep up your efforts gentlemen!

  "The Wallace Stevens Journal"  A contemporary of Ezra Pound.     

 

   "The Art of Aesthetic Surgery". By; Foad Nahai   a leading Plastic surgeon in the USA.   The series of Sculptures "Silhouettes" My Photo's/Silhouettes.jpg chosen for the cover ( Silver and Gold Leaf embossed Cover) and also for chapter headings!    The Sculptures are now all in private collections.     This book is 2700 pages and being published as I type in 27 Languages, distributed around the world.     The publishing rights helped pay for the new Copper Kitchen counter  (Picture) for our home.  WOW    (-;

 

            Ah..."The Oak and the Sunflower". I wrote this one morning on Grindstone Island.....

        

 

It was late summer in the valley, a quiet untroubled place.   A young squirrel was busy gathering the winters’ food supply, jumping and scrambling in the highest limbs of an old red oak.  

Gentle breezes stirred and bent the tall grasses and beautiful wild plants in the small field below.  Across the way a great ridge rose high into the clear sky from the edge of a tiny but loudly babbling brook.

Men rarely came to this valley, or there was little sign of them to be seen: an old circle of blackened stones, a rusted and crumpled tin can, not much really to notice.

Oh, what a way of life we have.  I am quite content.  Yet there was a time when I had great questions, well, actually it wasn’t so much a time as it was a season…

That season came a few years after the squirrel I mentioned dropped my young acorn self to the meadow below, where a small group of deer were busy nibbling on flowers and grass after the morning rain.  It felt wonderful to be resting on the soft ground, so cool and moist, no longer bobbing and weaving to the whims of the wind.  Yes, it was grand, I felt new and different and … “Ugh, ow.”

That was rude, that darned deer stepped right on me and broke my little hat.  Suddenly it was so quiet and dark and I, well I began to feel sleepy and ahh…

A whole autumn and winter passed and spring too!  I was sound asleep, or so I thought, well what did I know then anyway?  I was growing.   I was alive, I was, was, I was in the sunlight again and the wind.  Oh this feels good.   I thought, this feels great!  Hey!  Okay!

That was a summer I’ll never forget, a wondrous time.    I stood there on the edge of my own field, on the edge of my own world.

I guess to look at me I wasn’t much, just a few leaves and my trunk was, well, kind of small.

Everything around me seemed tall, like those pesky blades of grass that liked to tickle me.  Looking around the woods behind me and above I could see my family so great and proud, yet so old somehow. Their roots wound deep into the earth and held them steady and tall above me.  My mother oak spoke often to me then, and told me so many things; my mind would just spin sometimes.  She spoke of having patience, great patience for others.  She spoke of being kind, strong and caring, of hardship and strength, of sharing and happiness.  I liked the happiness stuff that was easy for me.  I hardly had a care in the world and I was very happy.  She spoke of so many seasons, so many times that were before, and how it was quite possible that I would be standing here long after she was gone, that I must remember everything I learned because seasons would come when I would tell the stories, when I would be the great mother in our valley.

A few more years passed and I became quite a young tree, still very short as far as I could see, only high as the young deer that often brushed against me.   A long winter had just passed and it was finally spring.  Oh, glorious spring … warm breezes warm sunlight, days of splendor and new things again.

PEOPLE!  People were in our field.  They were walking toward me, they were…”Oh, look out there, don’t!”  Whew, that was close.  The big one almost sat on me.  They all sat down, but the little ones, who ran around in endless circles, a funny thing to do I thought.   But, gee, they all have smiles on their faces and bright shinning eyes.  I wonder what they want here in our valley?

Well they were gone rather soon I thought, left in a hurry after playing in the babbling brook for awhile.  It bothered me some, their visit and all, and the stuff they left behind, but a few weeks later the grasses had hidden everything, everything but a strange new plant that was growing up very fast where they had dropped some seeds.

One day after a long foggy morning I heard whispering and then heard clearly, “Someday I will be much bigger than you!”  I glanced over and saw that it was the new plant and she was all leaves and stalks and not too much to look at.  She was definitely different from the others though, and I nodded to her to let her know I was listening.

She then said, “I know you’re listening and so you should.  I will have so much to tell you when I am taller than you!  I will see things you cannot and thus will know more than you!”

“Yes, you may,” I said, already a little bored with her tone, but curious still.  I asked, “What are You called?"

   

She answered, “You aren’t very smart, are you?   If you were smart you would know that I am a sunflower and that I will grow very tall and have a great flower as bright and yellow as the sun, and I will be very beautiful to see!”

I replied, “That will be very nice indeed to see, I will look forward to the beautiful flower as bright as the sun.” “And so you should,” she said, “as plain as you are and SO small!”

I didn’t like her; she wasn’t very nice, I thought.   I guess I shouldn’t be so quick to judge her, my mother’s words about patience and respect helped me to calm down some, but it still bothered me about that being so small part.  I knew someday I would be big, but how big did a sunflower grow to be anyway?  I was puzzled, for the first time in my growth I was really puzzled.

Well, there she was growing big, much bigger than anything in the meadow and she talked on and on about anything … anything and everything.  She was quite a talker, that one.  Her flower had begun to blossom very nicely, and as the next days passed she held herself proudly in the meadow, bowing and bobbing to the slightest of breezes in the valley.

It was a season on peace and calm in our world.  Bees were buzzing and zipping here and there,

Chipmunks and squirrels sat often on their rocks and trees, always curious and watchful.  The deer and bear families frolicked near the stream and in the tall grasses.  I especially enjoyed the bear cubs and all the ways they could invent to play with each other, running, tumbling, rolling.

I learned so much that summer and as autumn approached I had one more thing to learn, a very hard thing and its meaning would take many seasons to see clearly.

My early anger toward my companion, the sunflower, had changed without my noticing, had changed to admiration and wonder, to fondness and friendship, to a kind of love for her.  She began to ask me questions about my family on the hill behind us.  She asked, “Will you be as big as your mother tree or as tall as the others near her?”

“I have been told that I may grow very large someday and may be like my mother who has many children all over the valley.”

“That will be wonderful for you and I think you will be a very good teacher like your mother because you listen so well and seem to learn about everything,” she said.  I agree that I love to learn and in the same breath asked why she suddenly seemed a little sad.  “Well,” she said, her flower pointing down at the ground, “I am older than you may think, in fact, I will not have another season with you my young oak friend.”

“But you must be around,” I said, “to watch the seeds of your flower grow and tell them all you know!”

I spoke quite loudly and she turned toward me, her flower lifting a little as she said, “It will be you, my friend, it will be you who tells them how I came to this beautiful valley, how the seasons change, why the wind blows, it will be you!  You see my young oak friend, I will be gone soon, laid among the grasses in our meadow to sleep forever, to become the soil of your roots and I will, in a way, become you.  And for me that will be the greatest honor I could know.”

I was shaken, I didn’t want to believe her, yet she was so sincere and she was suddenly so lighthearted, so pleasing to look at.  “Don’t worry for me, she said.  “You are my friend and I am so happy to have grown up in your meadow with you … you who will one day be a great oak tree!  Let’s not talk anymore, let’s just stand and watch the days pass in peace.”

“Alright, my sunflower,” I said, “we will watch together.”  Those were our last words … words would no longer do for us as we gazed upon our lives.

When spring came again and then summer, sunflower’s children were there all buzzing with excitement and I spoke to them of anything … anything and everything.

 

 

                                              The End

 

By

William L. Salisbury

 

C 1995

Published by Ethel Salisbury

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               

 

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