The Box of Lost Souls

Architecture school was a fantastic education and experience, spanning the extreme ends of our imaginative possibilities. Besides assignments related to our studies, many of us experimented in all sorts of artistic disciplines. Some did pottery or deconstructive architecture, others made their own paper and produced watercolors on them. My interests were photography, large scale paintings, writing and sculpture. I often combined all four into particular projects. 

The years were approaching the end of the 80’s decade and art tastes were leaning towards natural materials, dark themes, ambiguous and sometimes frightening ideas. I had been working for a month on one particular piece I called The Box of Lost Souls. It was a very large piece made from several sheets of Mahogany and Walnut plywood, an enormous amount of patinated copper tubes, angles and rods piercing and holding together what, when fully assembled, resembled a giant wooden chest frozen in the state of explosion. 

The exterior facing sides of the beautiful plywood sheets were carefully brought to life with countless layers of shellac and oil in a French polish process resulting in a very thick, deep and glossy finish. The interior side of the plywood sheets were a combination of encaustic painted disfigured bodies swimming in a background of their hidden sins expressed in writing using a large Japanese calligraphy brush. Scattered amongst this were various varnished plaster hands and arms reaching out made from molds I had made around friends’ arms. Finally there were various self portrait Polaroids of strangers I had taken on several excursions to the city. One in particular was of a tall man wearing a brown leather hat with a wide brim and a long brown oilcloth coat. That one had always stuck out to me, like a 19th century cowboy who suddenly appeared in 20th century Manhattan. 

I had partially assembled it several times as I constructed elements in the studio, but my desire was that it would not be complete until I brought it to and assembled it in one of the remotest wooded parts of our almost 1,000 acre campus. I wanted it to be there and with no one knowing it, to be viewed only when accidentally discovered. Hopefully after it had had several years of aging and patina. 

The studios were never empty and always buzzing with activity, no matter what time it was. The year had just ended and I knew that the first weekend most everyone would not be there. This would be my opportunity. 

I arrived at 2:30 in the morning to move all the pieces from the studio to the edge of the forest. By sunrise they were all there and I started trekking the pieces to the location I had chosen deep in the forest. The whole day was spent carrying elements, assembling and adjusting. When it was finally complete, it was more than I had even expected. It resembled a stop motion photograph of an exploding ancient chest filled with artifacts, faces, jewels, hands and manuscripts. The contrasts between all the elements and materials quietly sang in that forest like a frozen orchestra.

It was already late and dark so I took a few photographs of my creation and then headed back out of the forest. By the time I did, thunder had started clapping and a few large drops of rain were striking my body. A few cracks of lightning struck and I was in my car and driving down the very long dark winding road out of campus. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. 

By the time I made it to the main road the rain was coming down in sheets. My wipers were swinging back and forth so fast yet clearing very little to enable me to see. The rain only seemed to intensify. The main road was very dark and desolate at this section as it was surrounded by large tracts of land and very few houses. 

I drove slowly and carefully. Seeing the limits of the road was very difficult and I desperately wanted to avoid any drivers who had forgotten to turn on their lights, but the road was completely desolate. Suddenly I saw something up ahead. I couldn’t make it out at first. I could tell that it wasn’t a car. It was on the edge of the road. It was tall. It was a man. A man with his hand stretched out and his thumb poking up. He was hitchhiking. In this storm, I thought. 

Such a fast flurry of thoughts flew around inside my head. I was tired, it was late, the storm was terrible and I was deciding whether I should pick up a complete stranger hitchhiking in a relentless downpour. 

I went back and forth between pity and fear, with fear becoming more predominant as I approached him and noticed he was wearing a hat. Most of his body was covered by a long coat. A large brimmed brown leather hat and a long brown oilcloth trench coat. Chills started racing up my spine. 

The decision not to pick him up was made but my curiosity was uncontrollable. I slowed the car a little bit as I passed him. I looked carefully but couldn’t see a face. He leaned down stretching out his thumb as though it would help sway my decision. I passed him. 

The rain was still raging. I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the man standing, looking at me drive away, disappointed. I checked to see the road ahead then returned to the rear view mirror but the man was gone. I adjusted the mirror, checked my side mirrors but did not see the man at all. He had simply disappeared. 

I turned my attention back on the road ahead, my drive home and suddenly the chills returned. There but fifty feet away, on the side of the road with his thumb stretched out was the man who had just disappeared from my mirrors. This time I crushed my curiosity and pressed hard on the accelerator. I passed him as before but this time at a higher speed. This time he stayed in my rear view mirror until I had disappeared. 

The next day, after a difficult night of sleep, I felt I needed to go to the sculpture. I needed to see that particular Polaroid and make sure I wasn’t going crazy, but I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find the sculpture. I couldn’t find the spot I had carefully chosen, nor could glimpse anything familiar. I kept getting lost. I walked most of the afternoon to no avail. I dismissed it as the result of exhaustion and the severe weather. 

I looked many times after that day and was never able to find that place again. I still hope to come across it one day if I ever decide to try.