montana — Field Notes — craig davidson

Near Augusta, Montana : : 2017 — **Near Augusta, Montana** : : 2017

Sage – Badlands, South Dakota — **Sage** – Badlands, South Dakota

I have a neatly folded pile of heavy cotton canvas and imagine unfolding it and attaching it to a wall. I won’t need to build a frame because I’ll gesso it on the wall, paint it on the wall, and display it in the same way. I’ll need to re-arrange my current studio space to accommodate it, or have to rent the corner of a warehouse somewhere else. Once it’s unfolded, it’ll be close to nine feet by eighteen feet. I purchased the bulk canvas years ago and used the other half to assemble four large stretched canvases. I have a lot left and that’s what I’ll use to paint something big. I imagine it’ll incorporate some big view in Montana, the Dakota Badlands, maybe Minnesota, or another enormous horizon from my youth—one that’s filled with sagebrush, grazing cattle, or wheat. It’s impossible to predict what a painting will become, but I like thinking about it.

I imagine a space that I can walk into—where I can get lost, my orientation completely in question because I can’t locate myself in space. It might shift what other people think they’re seeing too. The space could feel like a moment on countless road trips I’ve taken during the day and at night; in the dust of August or crisp nights of winter. At some point on every trip, I pull the vehicle over to the side of the road, or into an adjacent field and stay for awhile. If it’s dark, I stare into the sky stars. Sometimes during the day, I’ll open the tailgate and sit with my lunch, or dinner. I might even have food left that my wife prepared, and if I’m prepared, a thermos of coffee. If I’m in the middle of nowhere, there might be crickets, grasshoppers and meadowlarks surrounding me. It’s like I’m swimming in it. If I’m lucky, once in awhile the air will be still and heavy with sage or sweet grass, and will just drift there.

Songs :: Break My Heart Sweetly by John Moreland, and Plains (Eastern Montana Blues) by George Winston

Riding Shotgun :: 2011 — **Riding Shotgun** :: 2011

I was driving east through North Dakota the day after Christmas. It was dark, cold, the road was snow packed and in a blizzard when my friend and ex-sister-in-law called. I answered, said hello and once she said “Hi!”, I asked if she would hold on for just a minute. I muted my phone, the hairs went up on the back of my neck, and my eyes filled with tears. I couldn't believe it was her of all people calling me at that moment. I got back on and she asked me how I was, where I was and said that she'd been wanting to talk with me since my mother’s funeral almost two months earlier. Her call felt like divine intervention. We caught up with each others activities and then she simply, and warmly listened to my grief.

I’d spent a few days in Montana during the Christmas holiday with some members of my family, while my wife and daughter were in Florida to be with her family. I drove to Missoula purposely avoiding my hometown, specifically my mom and dad's house. It would feel uncomfortable and still, like a funeral home filled with types of flowers my mom wouldn't have liked. Like when certain music was chosen for her service that had no real connection to her. The music was more about the people who chose it than it being for my mom, like the Scottish dirge. She wasn't Scottish, or the Springsteen song I asked to be included. i don’t remember her once saying she was a fan of the Boss. It’s a great song, but that was about me, not her. The house might feel like those parlors filled with deep sadness, so I drove to Missoula where some of my siblings either lived or were visiting. We went out to dinner one night and I visited with some nephews and nieces the following day before heading home.

I looked forward to the return trip too because highway driving is always therapy—my shoulders relax and I feel lighter. Seeing family was good, but the drive was the main reason I went—it’s the mulling, the thinking, the re-thinking, the re-mulling, the crumbling, the talking out loud, the looking, and the picture taking that heals. Maybe a little like the Cat Stevens song On the Road to Find Out. After my sister-in-law and I said goodbye, I drove out of the lead edge of the storm where the interstate was dry, and I took the photograph Riding Shotgun with my mom sitting next to me.

For Mom and Janet

Songs :: On the Road to Find Out by Cat Stevens, Joanne by Lady Gaga and Dear Mama by 2Pac