Motion and Glory! The Quixote of the Cowboy Prince

Custer’s Last Waistband & the Cowboy Prince Present…

“Adam & Eve” (April, 2013)

- black, white, & red house paint on salvaged wood

Sure is good to be home and back in the studio again after the long journey… here’s little art for the heart’s sake just finished yesterday afternoon!

www.charliecumhau.com
www.returnofcowboyprince.tumblr.com

The Return of Charlie C. Umhau

After covering  30 miles in 3.5 days of pulling a homemade 300lbs. two wheeled peddler cart, sleeping  out in fields, backyards or beautiful strangers extra bedrooms for 3 nights, I have come to the end of my journey feeling more than satisfied  with my effort and making a sound decision to cease walking and go home.

After leaving Richmond on April 15^th I have spent the last three days completely immersed in a conclusive attempt at bringing to life a vision I saw in a dream a year prior. After a wild year of sewing, training and Custer’s Last Waistband “peddlering”, I thus conclude my adventure having  spent the last three days strapped into a leather harness, attaching myself to the cart with a series of ropes, clinching my teeth, sweating profusely, using every single prayer, mantra and muscle in my body to a proud point of exhaustion with such an effort to cause earnest sobs as my body would pause to rest and then pick up the cart again, again, again to try and pull 300lbs of Motion & Glory!  as close as I could up the road to Washington, D.C. Its been one hell of an adventure and I have enjoyed myself entirely.  

The days of traveling have been full of immense physical strain that although honestly have been very painful, have been beautifully contrasted with some of the most profound examples of human kindness I have ever experienced in my entire life. To big grins and smiles, free hushpuppies and bananas, and passing cars extending invitations to houses for cold glasses of tea, ice water, and most significantly to my two adopted families of the road who took me in for the night, offered me a shower, fed me and gave place to sleep.

 When going on physical adventures such as this, the days are expected to be full of strenuous physical activity, sweat and the joyful strain of muscles and motion that reward the adventure pilgrim with adrenaline, and the ultimate reward of beautiful views seen from the tops of the mountain scaled.  I will admit that on this trip though the only truly enjoyable aspect has come at the end of the day in the company of these loving strangers  and the gorgeous mountainous views they have shown me of humanity reaching out to those in need.  I will admit even in light of my pre-expectations of humanitarian optimism, these families  and people have surpassed  any vision I might have had of instantaneous community unfurling itself along the American roadside.

My cart has a two flags on it as it travels saying “Life the Life You Have Always Imagined!” and “If You Love It, It Will Survive!”  And I built and painted this cart with altruistic intentions towards those ends; to invite others in to a life of adventure, a life of community, of spaciousness and joy. I hoped that as I devoted myself to its physical realization rolling it around Richmond and northwards to towns and cities I would re-instill a sense of wonder in our generation. I hoped I would inspire others to don their own crowns of collective intentionality and further to pull their own carts up confident roads in the directions of their dreams. I still want all those things indeed. I still believe that’s what this world needs, but I realized each time I stopped and found myself in the midst of an open family- in the company of friends made on the road- I realized that the love and togetherness I experienced there resembled more closely a life I would much rather live than the solitude of lugging 300lbs of self-expression by myself up the road.

Motivating me onwards throughout the trip was thoughts such as these and the beckoning acknowledgement of all those I love being there in D.C. (and in Richmond and in Seattle and in Chicago, Greensboro, NYC and Philly and all the other fifty states and countries and villages of the world!)  waiting for me with open arms to welcome me home at the end of the road. Yet with each step I felt further and further away from the world I so desperately wish to belong to.  Meanwhile the weight of the cart in both a very literal sense (the harness cutting into my skin, the shouts and sobs struggling up steep winding hills) and the metaphoric weight of singlehandedly attempting to save the world - which honestly I have isolated myself from in the very act of attempting to awaken it- felt too immense a burden for me to continue struggling for alone. For Motion & Glory! and senses of wonder and Love and intentionality and delight in life are all causes I am very, very, very willing to devote my life to…but I will not die for them;  especially not for the sake of a feather in my cap, my pride, or the sad pressure of letting folks down.

On my third day of traveling, after a nice farewell from the family who adopted me on my second night, I rolled up Bear Slash road to Independence  and the “Y” shaped fork right onto Blunts Bridge Road. I took a break to prepare myself for the huge, steep winding hill up ahead past the horse farm. I did yoga in the sunlight and let my boots air out waiting for my best friend to arrive in her car after she volunteered- without prompting mind you- to drive slowly behind me to insure my safety up the big hill. She arrived, and after a delightful hug she parked her car and we both decided that no car was necessary; together we would walk the cart up Blunts Bridge Road. Together we rolled the cart down the first dip, my hand tight on the brake (thank you again Andrew Phinney!) and then up the next dip until the road evened out, a level stretch of road past the horse farm and that would continue directly down the long winding decline, leading into a sharp turn, crossing a bridge and then going right up into an immediate winding, curvy very steep uphill climb. As we rolled past the horse farm over a dozen horses ran out from the other end of the pasture to greet us at the fence. With mixed reactions to the cart’s bright red wheels and the curly haired couple pulling, the horses all stood frozen staring at us.  Then suddenly in one synchronized wave the horses all turned their heads to the right and sprinted off in another direction. …they all paused, stared and again in one beautiful swift movement they all turned their heads again and ran off.  It was magical and they did this several times as we went down the road.

Down the two of us went pulling the cart down the stretched hill, leaning my weight backwards in to the harness I used my force to slow the cart down squeezing the hand brake lightly. My best friend smiled and we kept rolling. Nodding at the passing cars and shouting “good morning!” to the construction workers on the side of the road, we made it around the sharp turn and rolled across the bumpy wooden bridge planks. At this point we both inhaled a deep breath and dug in, grasping the cart handle …and then we charged up the steep winding portion of Blunt Bridge Road. The construction crew behind us volunteered itself to our cause and rode slowly behind us, flashing its hazards to block the way. Cars parked and windows rolled down.  Together we worked as one unit, panting and shouting, screaming exuberate cries of determination! I reached behind me, getting a better grasp of the pull ropes clipped into my harness leading to the back of the cart; she bowed forward and we rolled up and up and up pulling 300lb of Motion & Glory!  to the very top of one steep , hell-of-a hill in the mid-morning sunlight.

Without being prompted to this amazing love of mine showed up again and again and saved me from the dangers and obstacles of my own madness. She did not stop, and all day we rolled along together, her helping me up hills, running alongside me, biking up ahead to scout out the approaching hills. She did it joyfully. She did it selflessly, without any  “you’ll owe me when you get home” or even a breath of “this is insane” or “why the hell are you doing this?!”- Which at the time I think were all very valid comments.  Yet that super woman joined me out of a pure act of love, concern for my well-being and earnest devotion to helping me do what I felt necessary to do.  

I am the luckiest man in the world and this wild Motion & Glory! peddler’s cart –vision-quest- one man-revolution of mine has unfurled before me a world far more connected, beautiful and profound than any I have ever dreamed of. This dream has become more than realized with all the help of you incredible people. Thanks to all you wild folks  who donated to my Kickstarter,  to those of you who cheered me on, who fed me,  who trained me in yoga, coached me in art business,  gave me 4lbs of free coffee, who supported me, who housed me,  who bought art work, or helped me pay bills. To those of you who smiled, who didn’t honk at my cart when I rolled past you in the street. To those of you who invited me into your homes, shared yourselves with me and appreciated my art and my earnestness…  And ultimately thanks to the amazing woman who literally stepped into my world, joined me in my madness and helped me douse the world in wonder through the physical triumph of the human spirit coming together!

 I am glad to be home. I am glad this crazy pursuit has come to an end and with it’s end the conclusion of a three years of solitude and emphasized separateness.  I am now more than contented with the adventure and the effort I have put forth throughout this journey. I did not reach D.C but  I feel I already reached the great “ah ha!” moment I was looking for throughout this whole pilgrimage when I realized that attempting the impossible is in itself a great victory and that the world is already pretty amazing as it is. Mostly significantly I realized that quite frankly the challenge and weight I feel is significantly more courageous to pull to learn how to be in this world again after such a long period of aestheticism and spiritual isolation. To meet the world as it, not retreat from it or escape into a fantasy is the ultimate challenge.

 I have had a hell of an amazing and ridiculous time out here. I have stretched my will power, pushing myself beyond my physical and mental limits again and then again and again. I have felt an immense love and protection and delighted in the realness of spiritual powers and light shining in the darkness. I have explored the mediums of my own expressions, and become significantly more in tune with what it means to be alive. I have found a nice balance of strength and healthiness I was desperately lacking. I have drunk from the sweetness of human kindness, community and love and experienced firsthand the deepest affection I have ever known. Thank you very much to all of you for re-instilling in me, a newly defined sense of wonder and appreciation for life.

 And now in the paraphrased words of Pablo Neruda’s great Ode to life, it is time for the prodigal hermit, the Cowboy Prince to hang up his hat and emerge from his mistaken solitude, to search and fight, to join hands with other hands… and from now on, I will not adopt, or praise misfortune. I will reject it, giving it the form of a wall, like the stonecutter with the stone, I will ‘”take scissors to misfortune and make a pair of trousers.”

 I am finally coming home.

3.5 days out, traveling 2 miles per hour pulling 300lbs, I have covered just under 30 miles and I have frankly never tried so hard in all my life.

Day 1: April 15th 2013

10.4 miles out of Richmond, roughly 5 miles from the town of Ashland, Va. The jetboil stove is in action and I excitedly await the water’s heat and with it the rehydration of my “chipotle chicken pasta” ration bag. All I can say is ” holy shit!” I can’t believe this is actually happening!
I’m camped out next to a plastic slide and a picnic table area in a public park with my beautiful cart standing beside me, that I miraculously pulled all 300lbs of… And here I sit, an exhausted outlaw while a little League team practices in the diamond besides me.

Like the first slice of an apple pie, today was rough. Today was insane and my body has never felt such strain. That cart is 300lbs loaded and damn! I can feel every single ounce of them; slight inclines and hills are excruciating requiring me to use every muscle in my body, every mantra in my mind and even then I have to scream to pull it.
This has been a very emotional day and besides that I think the physical strain alone is the reason I’ve been tearing up most of the day. But man! I feel extremely and wonderfully and completely alive tonight.
I intend to keep trying as long as I can stand it. Pushing myself to keep going felt good and now I’m glad and relaxed, the worse part over. As soon as the little league practice next to me is over I can’t wait to fall asleep. I can rest, and whatever comes tomorrow I will give my best. Whether I get to D.C., call it quits tomorrow or whatever… I am open to any outcome.
My heart is open & I am trusting in God to be my navigator. I can go on forever.

Oh man! There’s church bells singing in the background! What a day!

In the morning I will be leaving Richmond and heading northward to Washington, D.C. pulling my Motion & Glory! Peddler’s cart behind me.I am so excited and very nervous this evening before my launch but am honored to have all the support and encouragement from all you beautiful people. I am ready to slay this dragon!

I will be updating folk from the road as much as I can- I even got myself a solar panel for the cart, and figured out how to use an IPhone! I will be walking along US Bike Route 1 on back country roads, got two weeks’ worth of rations, 4lbs of Lamplighter coffee and an incredible support team available as well if I run out of bananas or need a hug. I’ve packed homemade shirts, and my weathered dog eared copies of Neruda, Rilke and Thoreau. My shoes are broke in and my heart is racing to go.

I can’t wait to share it all with you! I’ll be journaling along the trip as well as updating my blog as much as I see fit or can get connected. Please follow the journey here at www.returnofcowboyprince.tumblr.com

Thank you so much for helping this dream come true,

Yours now and forever,

Charlie C. Umhau

Custer’s Last Waistband & the Cowboy Prince Present….

* the Motion & Glory! Cart’s final paint job featuring some of the incredibly generous Kickstarter backers who helped make this dream a reality… And now in less than 48 hours ill begin pulling my cart northward to Washington, D.C.

Live the Life You Have Always Imagined….

…the Cowboy Prince takes Motion & Glory! for a training roll through the Fan in Richmond Virginia.  This wild young bandit is sprinting towards the final and deadly showdown with just under two weeks until he pulls Motion & Glory! 140 miles northward to Washington, D.C.

www.charliecumhau.com

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/380837518/custers-last-waistband

the Art of Bill Traylor

“Bill Traylor was born on April 1, 1854 as a slave on the George Hartwell Traylor plantation outside of Benton, Alabama, about thirty-five miles from Montgomery. After the Civil War, Traylor stayed on the plantation as did the other members of his family. He became a sharecropper, working his own land. On August 13, 1891, he married his wife, Lourisa Dunklin, and the couple had nine children together.

In 1935, at the age of 82, Traylor decided to leave the farm where he had spent his entire life. As he later explained to artist Charles Shannon, ”My white folks had died and my children scattered.” Having no one left to stay for, Traylor uprooted himself, leaving the small community of about 700 people for the comparative metropolis of Montgomery, with a population of over 70,000 inhabitants.

Upon his arrival, Traylor worked in a shoe factory, but rheumatism forced him to quit. He received government assistance checks to live on, and slept in the back room of the Ross-Clayton Funeral Home on Monroe Street.

Monroe Street was a busy, lively place. It was close to the train station and the river, so many travelers passed through. On the weekends, there was an influx of country people coming to town for supplies. Traylor saw many old friends, and was on pleasant terms with many of the people in the black community around Monroe Street.

Sometime after his arrival in Montgomery, Traylor picked up a pencil and a scrap of cardboard or some such material, and began to draw. His inspirations were the people he saw on the street, animals and livestock, and objects around him such as those found in the nearby blacksmith shop. He sat on a box, observing and drawing the vignettes he saw played out before him. In the spring of 1939, he was noticed by Charles Shannon, a white painter who was living outside of Montgomery, having received a fellowship to pursue his work there. Shannon became a great advocate of Traylor’s work, and helped support him by bringing supplies and visiting every week.

In February 1940, Charles Shannon arranged for a solo exhibition of Traylor’s work at New South, which was both an organization and a community arts center dedicated to creative culture in Montgomery. Shannon also helped obtain funds for Traylor to go to Detroit later that year to visit relatives, though he wasn’t sure if he would actually return. Traylor did, having only stayed away a few weeks.

In 1942, Traylor’s work was again exhibited at The Fieldstone School of the Ethical Culture Schools in Riverday, New York. It was curated by Victor E. D’Amico, who was introduced to Traylor’s work the previous year by Charles Shannon. Subsequently, D’Amico introduced Bill Traylor’s work to Alfred Barr, the director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Barr decided to purchase sixteen of the works for the museum, in addition to buying some for his own collection. Charles Shannon was sent a check for the pieces, a sum that worked out to payment of one dollar for smaller pictures and two dollars for larger pieces. Shannon was incensed, having not been previously consulted about selling the paintings, of which he was the owner. He cancelled the transaction, retaking possession of the pictures. Later that year, Shannon was drafted into the army, and left the United States to serve in the South Pacific.

Bill Traylor’s time during World War II was spent moving around the homes of his various children, who were indeed scattered in Washington D.C., Detroit, Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia. During his time in Washington, he had a gangrenous leg amputated. In spite of any difficulties this may have caused, he chose to return to Montgomery, preferring his life on Monroe Street. He did not create any art during the war years, and though he did begin to draw again upon returning to Montgomery, the pictures were of substantially lesser quality. His contact with Charles Shannon was eventually resumed, but none of these later works were preserved.

Traylor died on October 23, 1949 in Montgomery. Shannon, in possession of 1200-1500 drawings, kept them in storage due to lack of public interest in his work. He exhibited them in 1979 at R.H. Oosterom Gallery, New York. Modern audiences finally began to take notice of Traylor’s art in 1982, when he was shown in the landmark exhibition, Black Folk Art in America, at the Corcoran Gallery in Washington, D.C.

Today, Traylor’s work has gradually moved from the appellation ‘folk art’ to inclusion in the canon of contemporary 20th century art. This brief, introductory biography does not begin to discuss the aesthetic qualities and iconography of his work, but resources are available in the form of numerous books, article, and exhibition catalogues for those interested Bill Traylor’s art.”

From the Anthony Petullo Collection of Self-Taught & Outsider Art

http://www.petulloartcollection.org/the_collection/about_the_artists/artist.cfm?a_id=56

As of tomorrow March 1st, I will begin an earnest 31 day Yoga Challenge for the purpose of spiritual preparation, mindful purification and final intensive physical training before I pull my Motion & Glory! Peddlers cart from Richmond VA, to Washington, D.C. in mid-April.

 I believe that hope is a verb with its sleeves rolled up!
Well my heart is racing as I’m rearing to go and set my heart towards the final steps of rolling up my own sleeves …and I’ll start my unrolling my yoga mat.

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/380837518/custers-last-waistband

turnstyled; junk piled