The Flip Flop Sculpture

The flip flop sculpture. There is more to it than meets the eye. More to it than beauty is in the eye of the beholder. “In a pig’s eye” you say! You decide.

The summer was gone and fall was rapidly making its exit. I was still working the in the barn, but I knew my time was limited. Soon the temperatures would plummet and it would be too cold to work … the glue solidities … the paint freezes … the nails are too frigid to handle … working in gloves is ridiculous. But most of all, I can’t see what I am doing for my frozen breath. I was finishing up a few last pieces, which was getting increasingly difficult. No, I was not having a creative block. I was running out of driftwood. My stockpile was diminished. I rubbed my crystal ball. Jupiter was on its last leg, or in the cusp, or some other seer saying. I rubbed more … the ball was white. In my best Jean Dixon voice, I exclaimed, “Soon the driftwood will be covered with snow … until spring”. I said this to myself and only I heard it. But, I would not lie about such a thing.

I hiked in to my driftwood source. It is like a driftwood graveyard. When driftwood realizes that it is near death, it heads for the driftwood graveyard. I can never reveal the location. The driftwood hunters would steal it all. Were I to tell, Tarzan would tear me to shreds. If I told you, I would have to kill you. Don’t try to follow me! Just follow what I say.

I was looking for a big haul. Had my backpack basket. Had the army duffle bag. Had the handcart. Picking were good. But something was bothering me. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Finally! It was the flip flops. They were everywhere. They were there waiting for me, but I didn’t know why. Regardless, I gathered them up … filled the basket … and more. There was more to it than meets the eye. Something was missing. I took them home. Revelation comes in its own time.

I emptied the basket and started to strip them of their thongs. Sounds kinky, but it wasn’t. I knew what I would do for the sculpture. I sorted them by left and right and by color. There was more to it than meets the eye … but I could not see it. I remembered the crystal ball, but it was white. I turned up the music. I sat and stared at the piece. Nothing came to me. I glanced to the side at my sorted piles. It came to me. Like and aside. There was not a left AND right. No two flip flops matched.

It took a moment to catch my breath! I had to be methodical. I had to be CSIesque. I closed my eyes. Gestalt! I see it now. The crystal ball is white, but I am clear. There were no matches. Stay with me. There were either rights or lefts. Stay with me. Ankle bone connected to the leg bone. Stay with me. There was only one leg. Stay with me. The lost flip flops floated down the river and were deposited along with driftwood. Stayyyy with me. Somewhere up river, one-legged skiers, boaters and swimmers congregated in massive numbers. Clumsy, careless one-legged skiers, boaters and swimmers, most of whom had lost his/her flip flop. His/her only flip flop. I had found the one-legged flip flop graveyard.

I love the sculpture. It has a story. Anne took one look and hates it. Maybe if she knew the story, she would feel different. I put it up on the barn. Sometimes I see cars slow down and stare. I wonder how many legs they have.

I cannot tell you where the flip flop graveyard is. If I did, I would have to kill you.