Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Welded
He never answered when she asked him why his art had turned into this. Why welding huge pieces of sheet metal into dinosaurs and giant mosquitoes and waiting for them to become perfectly rusty in the yard next to their house had become his only vehicle of artistic expression.
What was he trying to say?
When he decided to load up his creations and go install them in out of the way fields, atop abandoned railroad cars, posed as if they had naturally congregated in these unlikely spots, she thought it was kind of endearing. Quirky. Quirky was always a good quality. Who wanted a run of the mill kind of husband, a work-a-day guy, leaving with his lunchbox at seven and rolling in at five to mow the lawn, depositing his check in the bank every two weeks and going online late at night to look at houses, saving up to find her just the right house with a view of the lake and a nice kitchen?
She didn’t argue or nag. He never responded. He never took the bait nor answered any question. He shrugged off nagging, usually just flipping down the lens shade of his welding helmet and walking outside where his latest creation lay half-built on its side, a giant robin maybe, or a grasshopper. She never knew what rusty beauty was next in his mind.
Who could know?
People would ask her. She was his wife so they figured she’d know. If anyone would, she could interpret his art, make it make sense to everyone else. Glorify it, elevate it, explain it, praise it, love it.
But she couldn’t. So she left him to himself.
16 Comments on “Welded”
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
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“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
The artist’s mind. Art is something they have to do. Like breathing. To explain it makes it something else. Love this story.
Reblogged this on Red's Wrap.
Love this story. I can picture these giant creatures in their fields and trains. Waiting. Big and overshadowing and almost like the wife. Waiting. But not imposing on her husband’s need to create.
Waiting – you’re so right. She was really waiting – to figure it out? Not sure. Thanks for reading this and commenting.
sometimes that is the true gift of love, to let the other person BE and love them because of or in spite of it.
Loved the story.
Thanks, Kir. I didn’t know until the end whether she was going to just let him be or walk out the door. 🙂
Like the idea of a giant robin in the yard, and the wife leaving him to it.
Sometimes we aren’t afforded the luxury of explanations or understanding. I like how the wife just accepts what is and lets him do his thing. (I enjoy seeing quirky art in unexpected places :))
You should take a drive along U.S. 2 in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. You’d see several of these creations. 🙂
I love that she allows him to be himself without questioning him. Great post.
I didn’t know she was going to do that until the end! I guess that’s the fun of fiction. Thanks for the comment. 🙂
I don’t think I’ve read any of your fiction before. This is good! Great language and images of those hulking mosquitoes and dinosaurs. I like how she justifies his behavior with quirky.
Thank you! Hardly ever write fiction. Fun!
Nice! Fields abuzz with rusty insects. A large iron spider made from old gears and other parts graces my garden. Now I know who made it. 😉
rusty beauty in his mind . . . 🙂 a wise woman just doesn’t ask.
thanks for your entry . . . could you add a hyperlink back to trifecta?
Yep. Just did. 🙂