I took the kids on a quest to Find Clyde, road trip style. We went to see a reclusive folk artist who has managed quite a bit of fame and notoriety. He's done this by breaking every rule. He never promotes himself. He refuses to sell his work. He appears to work with an utterly casual abandon. His canvas is everything. He doesn't appear to care for the thoughts or opinions of any adult. You can only own his work if he gives it to you. And mostly, he only gives his work to children. Clyde likes children. And even that would seem wrong at first glance--the man does not wear a cheery red suit. He looks creepy if you don't know who he his. Because he doesn't make the slightest effort to seem acceptable on any level of normal. As we began, leaving our driveway I asked the children to consider: what is art?

We drove quite awhile to get there. There, there isn't much to do. You are left standing in the middle of a common neighborhood, gawking foolishly. Its very quiet. Lingering feels invasive. People are busy with their private lives here.

 My children were silent. And moved. My son turned to me and said, "This is really good. Thank you."

I turned around and looked directly across the street from Clyde's house. All through this small rural neighborhood you see the affect of his art. You see his critters everywhere. His impact is undeniable and completely wonderful. What I feel when I'm there is this: I want that. That being a life of art. What is art?

 Here is a quiet lone critter, understated and demure, possibly half way back to wild. Critter variation.

As this was an important cultural quest, we stopped to pay respects at the local q joint, unchanged since I was a child. God Bless That Family, they do barbecue right. Its an art.