Gregs Bridge

My followers and friends know the metaphors I use between my bridge-art and life… Perhaps not “outstanding” to many of you, this recent piece is one... more

by Dennis Buckman

Title

Gregs Bridge

Artist

Dennis Buckman

Medium

Photograph - Artistic Interpretation Of Photography

Description

My followers and friends know the metaphors I use between my bridge-art and life… Perhaps not “outstanding” to many of you, this recent piece is one of the more meaningful works I have done.

Greg and I go back to 1958. I lived with my mother, raising German Shepherds at our house on Chicopee. Drive. In addition, she was showing Tennessee Walking horses. My mother and I were in a car accident near our house on Thanksgiving Day in 1958 and our car was towed to a service station that was owned by Bill Hough, the man I eventually grew to know as “Uncle Bill”. Tony Buckman worked part-time for Bill at the garage, which is where Tony and my mother met. Greg and I became cousins in June of 1959 when my mother and Step-Dad (Tony) were married…

Greg and grew as close as any brothers could have under those circumstances. Though we lived across town from each other, we were together at every weekly gathering at Grandma Buckmans and any other “family” event. My folks and his shared fishing trips, picnics, holidays… Just your typical blended family in the 60’s.

I was sent to Omaha in 1968, yet continued to correspond with Greg through the mail and occasional telephone calls. When Greg returned to Louisville after his tenure in the military, he used to boast that the thing that got him through the Army was my weekly letters to him wherever he was stationed.

I could write pages, but I won’t here. Let me just say that Gregory was the brother I never had. The friend I could trust with my life. The one I laughed with, cried with and who I was unafraid to share every thought, every opinion, every mistake. And always, always welcomed his response.

I was in Louisville and spent 4 or 5 days with Gregory and his wife Fran at their home from the 22nd of October to the 27th or 8th. I always enjoyed my time at Gregs for a variety of reasons. The love that permeated from their home. Gregs “black-and-white” outlook on everything. His honesty. Frans cooking! Greg was winning his fight against cancer which had been diagnosed 6 or 7 months earlier and he was finally in the mood for out-of-town company. The prognosis was fantastic. Nearly all of the cancer was gone, Greg had returned to work at Ford and his life was returning to “normal”. I returned to Omaha confident Greg and I would see each other again between Thanksgiving and Christmas as we’d discussed.

Cousin Greg passed away November 20th, 2015. His heart stopped while he was at work. I wish I could say that I’ve gotten used to people dying. But you never do. Both of my Dads, several very close aunts. I have out-lived friends, teachers, neighbors, other relatives. The pain that remains is simply an honor to the love that was shared. I know the grief will come and go, perhaps even lessen as I come to terms with Gregs passing.

In the meantime, this first bridge to his memory, I “gathered” on my return trip from his funeral. I just imagined as I worked on each cable, the roadway, the lighting… It was Gods way of telling Greg, “Welcome Home”.

Uploaded

January 28th, 2016