Colorful Ruminations above the Stage
I climbed twenty-feet up above the stage, using the narrow metal ladder to reach a level that had once possibly been Thomas G. Moses’ onsite paint studio. At the age of sixty-eight, Moses had ascended this same ladder multiple times every day during his brief stay in Fort Scott to paint the scenery. I was reminded once again that scenic art has never been a profession for the weak.
The platform, or studio floor, above the stage area was now in abandoned ruins. In June 2014, all contents in the building had been auctioned off. By 2015 any artifacts remaining in the complex were only small piles of discarded items. Up here, there were only mounds of dirt and debris.
I tried to imagine the space as it was 1924 – a paint studio, complete with impromptu paint tables holding pots of color and brushes, maybe even buckets of water and a drop tacked onto the temporary frame. My initial hope had started to plummet, realizing that Austin might have been right and only the single barrel of whiting remained – nothing else.
Regardless, my first task was to look for splotches of dry pigment color on the floor marking paint spills or where the colorful powder had leaked from either bags or boxes. Areas with dry pigment could verify Moses’ onsite paint studio. The barrel of whiting could have technically have belonged to any onsite painter, not just a scenic artist. I needed more information.
There was almost too much dirt to even identify what was beneath my feet or what the floor was constructed of in the dim light. I continued my trek across the space, carefully looking down and trying to spot any anomaly amongst piles of dirt. Did I bring my flashlight up here? No, of course not. I tripped and kicked up some dust. Coughing, I also realized that I didn’t have my particle mask. It was next to my flashlight in the auditorium.
Oh well, I thought. Opening the barrel of whiting would warrant another trip up here anyway. I continued onto the barrel, careful not to trip in the dark – again- and I recognized that I could be courting disaster. No flashlight, no particle mask, and no railing along the steep edge. All I needed to do was to cough, trip, stumble and fall to the stage floor. The idea of this catastrophe resulting from Murphy’s law made me giggle. I had already tripped over the tubes downstairs and my ankle was swollen beyond recognition! I had a mental image of shouting “Charge!” and attempting to race up a staircase with my swollen ankle. What was I thinking?!?!
These distracting thoughts ceased as I neared the barrel of whiting, seeing a splotch of bright blue against the grey. I recognized it as dry pigment. Brandon noticed another one near the edge of the ledge too. There were colorful reminders of the past with every step! And the color wasn’t only on the floor, but there were also splatters of dry pigment all over the brick walls. At this point, I was ecstatic and internally celebrating the confirmation of my theory.
Austin, the youngest of our crew, became curious and crouched onto the dirty floor, crawling to the gap between the floor and brick wall. He got down on his hands and knees, brushed the dirt aside, and reached down into the gap. It reminded my of a movie scene from my youth when of Flash Gordon reached his hand into the tree trunk hole as a test of courage.
I kind of smirked as I thought, “Oh to be young again….” This smirk quickly turned to astonishment as he pulled a paintbrush from the crack. But this was not just any paintbrush, it was a scenic artist’s brush called a fitch!
To be continued…
