If you know Durham like I know Durham, then you know that that old city's Western outskirt is laden by a mythical lane, still named (the name remains the same): 9th St.
And if you knew Durham WHEN I knew Durham, THEN you would know that even when downtown was ne'r a vast hollowed shell of a city, it still retained, upon the lapel of its drab grey suit, this pimpernil, or a string of jewels, a broach worn around her hip?
Here, along this modest section of sidewalk, a meager sprout of a man could find a small cornucopia of the smells, objects, and ideas, that might make him dream of The Wide World Out There!
The first thing that smacked you in your undeveloped, teenaged noggin (as you clambered up the hill, say from Broad St.), was the inherently promising smell of fresh baked bread (wafting from the 9th St Bakery). The smell was like a friendly dog, that came to greet you at the gate, and before you knew it you were both wagging tail and tongue, as one. Mounted that stone curb precipice, you dove, no, strode, no dove, into that string of pearls, and goodies. Cheap eclectic records, Cashew Chicken from Vietnam, R. Crumb comics, French sandwhiches, silk scarves, malt sundays, tattoos. All this, along one short street!
And buried among/ along this string of varied jewels, was always (as far as I can remember), this one, mysterious, deceivingly very tiny, purple little Jewel, named enigmatically.... Vaguelly Reminiscent....
Well, those adventurous, curious (or perceptive) enough to crack that creaky door were rewarded to find within that small ruby room, an entire 'underwater' cavern daintily encrusted with rare and strange gems.
On those stacked and varied shelves, one can find the most wild diaspora of curious objects.
Bangles, Zombie Mints ("mmm...brain flavor"), rubber frogs and anteaters, cat butt refrigerator magnets (maybe as an appetite suppressant?), really nice scarves and other clothes for women. All under one roof!
And now, to add to this mellee, an auto mirror tucked within a nest of chicken feathers, and woven bicycle tire! behold-the 'tredknest'.
How did this come to be?
Well, at the outset, it should be shared that I grew up with the Owner, Carol Anderson's niece, Katy, and am now good friends with her nephew, Squiggs, though I never knew Carol herself.
Recently, as the Festival for the Eno, I was blessed with a visit to my "Reptire Hut" from Carol herself, and an introduction from my mom, Edie, who has a pretty keen eye connecting people, particularly her son.
So I realize that it probably looks a bombastic, dynastic plot! And perhaps it is to some extent...
However, this I also have come to know about Carol: that she is a shrewd business woman (no doubt, you don't keep an eclectic-as-all-get-out boutique open THIS long (30 yrs? I am guessing) with out being one!).
So, I console myself to believe that Carol would not host my work in her tight-high-realistate-retail space, if she did not on some level think that this work might belong in her shop...
Thus, I can only deduce (with considerable pride) that my tire art has received the official.......
Carol Anderson Stamp Of Funk!