My friend, Dr. G, is a true renaissance man – a polymath, if you will. I shall count just a few of the ways: He has a BS & MS in Electrical Enginerding, is an MD specializing in Emergency Medicine, is a eloquent wordsmith, has MAD rock-climbing skills, is a fine builder and designer, and is an artist par excellence. He has done a number of paintings over the years that I have really liked: the Red Nude hanging behind his couch, the naked running man in his Little Rock living room, a tiny sketch of a falling leaf “doodled” in a guide book margin, etc… On a climbing trip last summer we stopped in at his place to recuperate, reorganize our gear, stock up on food, and drink beer. While getting a tour of his Arts & Crafts bungalow (with a similar floor plan to our, though much larger) , I spotted a 3’X4’ canvas peeking out from behind a t-shirt in an upstairs bedroom and I was drawn to it. The painting is a climbing self portrait, of sorts. It is viewed from inside a wide crack, high up the side of some unknown wall. He is trying to wedge a #4 BD Camalot into the crack in what would appear , by the sweat running down his face and by the intensity in which his brow is lifted , a last ditch effort to protect and anchor his progress after a long scary run-out. We have all been there whispering, “please hold, please hold, PLEASE hold…” while standing on a manky knob of choss, 50’ above the last placed piece of gear, and thinking about how bad it is going to hurt when you pop off and take a slide down the wall, stopping abruptly on a ledge or the not so cushy ground. I stared at it for an unseemly amount of time and took a number of digital pictures of it before it was once again covered and leaned against the wall. I thought about it that night as I lay in my sleeping bag and have thought about it often since then, having a digital copy running through the “my pictures” slide-show whenever my home or work computer goes to sleep.
I was recently at his wedding, which was a lesson on how nuptials should be done – full of laughter, good food, fine booze, and class to spare. The morning after the big “do,” I caught Dr. G in a moment of weakness – right after he had signed a huge check paying for the event hall rental and while his head was still foggy with the glee of his wedding night. I mentioned the painting and how much I liked it, how great it would look at my house, and how his new bride didn’t really feel that it fit with her choice of decor ( a complete lie on my part). Before I could say another word he looked at me and said “it is yours.” Uhhhh… OK… He was serious and even tried to make sure I really wanted it. Fvck yes I wanted it! I went 2 hours out of the planned route to pick it up at his house. When I got the painting down stairs I teared up and cried. I felt like a big ol’ titty-baby. I sniffled as I loaded it up and called him again to say ‘thank you.’
I have looked at it for a while since I have been home and it makes me happy. I smile remembering his face contorting while miming eating a stack of Oreo Cookies in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming when we were starving for something other than dehydrated packaged food, how he sings a Jimi Hendrix song while crack climbing, and I fondly remember the time Dr. G caught me on the biggest climbing lead-fall I have ever taken. More than anything though, I look at this canvas and think about the investment of time it was for a man with so many interests and responsibilities, the hours he spent crafting the pallet and studying his own face and hands. I feel humbled by his friendship, talent, and generosity.
