Desperation

Loneliness I

The Woolworth's Sit-In

Four students from NC A&T sit in at Woolworth's counter on Feb. 1, 1960

I missed a very important anniversary four days ago.

On February 1, 1960, four African American college students from North Carolina Agricultural and Technical University sat down at a lunch counter and ordered coffee. They were at Woolworth's, in downtown Greensboro, NC, where I had eaten dozens of times as a child when my family left our small town of Reidsville to shop in the big city of Greensboro.  However, these young students were not able to do what I could do any time simply because they were black. The lunch counter at Woolworth's was all white. The students were denied service, but they politely refused to leave. They kept their seats,  following the policy of nonviolent resistance.

The next day, more than twenty courageous black students came to Woolworth's. They sat quietly and read books, ignoring the heckling and taunting of some of the whites in the crowd. Yet they were still denied service. It was store policy, after all. This time, there was media coverage of the sit-in.

On the third day, more than 60 people came to the protest, yet Woolworth's still would not budge. On the fourth day more than 300 people participated in the protest, so many that the organizers decided to send some to conduct a sit-in at Kress.

Within a week, their courageous refusal to leave without being served until closing had started a peaceful sit-in movement across North Carolina, one that was eventually joined by scores of students and that lasted for months. Civil Rights protests likes this one spread quickly across the south, to Richmond and Nashville, ultimately leading to the desegregation of the lunch counters and restaurants they targeted. But it took months. The African American employees of Woolworth's were the first to be served at that lunch counter on July 25, 1960. The lunch counter was officially desegregated the next day, on July 26, 1960.

The original Woolworth's lunch counter and stools from Greensboro where the first four students sat are still in their original location. In a happening of great irony, the old Woolworth's building has become the International Civil Rights Center and Museum. It opened on February 1, 2010, the 50th anniversary of the sit-in one year ago. A section of the lunch counter can also be seen in the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC.

Small, quiet actions of great courage change the world.

The International Civil Rights Center and Museum, Greensboro, NC

The Big Black Dog of Depression

I have fought the big black dog of depression for more than forty years. It never gets any easier. The problems it causes change as my life changes with my age, but the difficulty stays the same. When I was younger, I was upset a lot, frantic to straighten things out, things that couldn't be straightened. I was also frantic to find answers to questions that couldn't be answered. I found that living with ambiguity and uncertainty was something I could not do. It triggered depression. Now I don't try so hard to do the impossible; I just live with the depression.

Depression is so much more than life's normal sadness or the blues. With depression, you feel empty. Like you are no one. You find you can no longer enjoy things you once enjoyed, no matter how hard you try. You may feel you are living in slow motion; you may need to sleep too much or you may not be able to sleep at all. You will feel fatigue or exhaustion from doing nothing beyond that which you have ever felt from doing something. You have no energy or strength. You may feel guilty and not know why. You may feel worthless and not know why. You may have difficulty concentrating. It may be impossible to make decisions. There is a sense of desolation, of despair, of hopelessness, of sorrow that goes far beyond anything that is normal. You may be tired of being you. You may be tired of being. Depression can even be fatal.

"Depression is a fierce enemy, making it a struggle just to stand up, get dressed and walk around," says Brigette Weeks in Daily Guideposts. "And living with it, the name of the game is to look and act ordinary." That isn't always easy. Sometimes it's impossible to hide the depressions, but you'd be amazed at how often people just don't see it.

For me, the hardest part is the emptiness. When I am empty I cannot talk, I cannot write. Whatever I say feels false and phony even when I know it is sincere. I try so hard to go on as though nothing is happening, and often no one knows but me. But I know, and the cost of performing is high. What I want, what I need is more time to turn inward until I feel strong enough to face the world again. I try to do this while never neglecting the relationships in my life. If I know I'll need to go to bed early and won't be able to be on Facebook for chatting, I'll call a Facebook friend on the phone for a more personal touch instead.

But it is inevitable that there will be people who say you let them down, you didn't chat enough, you didn't come enough, you didn't write enough. And when you are doing all you can do and you can't do any more, then there is a finality to their complaints that you cannot help. You can't do more. And then the emptiness grows even larger; it threatens to swallow you whole. The guilt and shame of failing at friendship pull the floor from under your feet. You are in free fall. Down and down, with no floor. What is there to stop the fall?

Thank God I love politics. I am trying to focus on the poor people in Egypt whose peaceful revolution has turned violent and ugly, through no fault of their own. I am trying to read a little book on the will of God. I have to walk my dog two or three times every day. And I talk to my mother every day. These are my lifelines.

I am in a bad way now. I have let down a friend, who had been one of my lifelines, by needing to sleep and not chat on Facebook. She has decided on her own that her friendship must be too much for me, and so she drew back. I don't think this is just, and I cannot handle that. I have no coping skill for that. I don't let you into my heart easily. I am very careful. I don't have a Plan B. And when you pull back, the empty space you leave is devastating.

A bad day

Robert Lysiak, Artist's Statement

Robert Lysiak Artist's Statement

Mountain Barn

Born on the lower east side of New York City and raised on Long Island, Mr. Lysiak has lived on a 50 acre farm in Trade, Tennessee for the past 28 years with Lynne, his wife of 35 years, Brandon, his 26 year old son, and uncountable dogs and cats. He has raised cattle, goats, hogs, chickens, and, regrettably, geese. Their house is bounded to the east by Snake Mountain and to the west by a wooded ridge rising several hundred feet above the holler. They share the land and air with the deer, hawks, wild turkey, skunks, possums, ferrets, owls and foxes that roam the place day and night. He has built additions on their 80 year old farmhouse himself, wired it, plumbed it, built sheds and repaired fences, doctored livestock, loaded hay and tobacco with friends and neighbors, been selected Johnson County Conservation Farmer of the Year in 1990, cut trees for firewood, cursed at tractors, trucks, and equipment that wouldn't start. He holds a Ph. D. in Middle English Language and Literature and has taught medieval literature and linguistics in the English Department at Appalachian State University since 1973.
 

Chanticleer

He has been painting in watercolor for over 15 years. His work reflects his personal experiences and range of interests. The variety of Appalachian life, whether human, natural, or mechanical, is sometimes rough, sometimes lovely but always vibrant in a natural landscape of superlative beauty. Transparent watercolor is an ideal medium for capturing the brilliant effects of light and color available here. While he enjoys using transparent watercolor pigment, he has begun applying it in other than traditional loose washes. A colorist, he chooses to apply pure, clean color with little dilution, thereby managing more effective control of paint and drying times. He employs few white passages which tend to restrict surrounding areas to diluted tints. Extreme value differences are kept to a minimum in order to emphasize color and intensity contrasts. Form is also simplified as color variation is increased in order to maintain focus on the essential subject matter. The use of transparent pigment in this manner still allows light to reflect off the white paper, maintaining the luminous quality of watercolor but allowing richer, deeper color at the same time.
 
His successful group and solo shows, popular workshops and demonstrations have earned him regional acclaim. Recent awards include Honorable Mention (1998) for "Truck," at the Virginia Highlands Art Show, Abingdon, VA; Best in Show (1999) for "Choppin' Weeds," at the Appalachian Art Show, Kingsport, TN; Award of Merit (1999) for "Twilight Tractor" at the Virginia Highlands Art Show; Award of Excellence (2000) for "The Color of Money" at the Appalachian Art Show; Award of Distinction (2000) for "Summer Maple" at the Virginia Highlands Art Show; Second Place Award (2001) for "Retired" at the Appalachian Art Show; Award of Merit (2001) for "Enraged" at the Virginia Highlands Art Show; Honorable Mention (2001) for "Trio" at the High Country Watermedia Show. He has been featured in Watermedia Focus Workbook, April, 2001. Recent solo exhibitions include "Country People, Country Places" (1999) in the Arts Depot Spotlight Gallery, Abingdon, VA; "All Things Appalachian" (1999) at the Appalachian Cultural Museum, Boone, NC; "Recent Watercolors" (2000) at the Kingsport Renaissance Center; the Ridgefields Country Club, Kingsport (2001), the Artists Palate in Blowing Rock, NC (2001); the Arts Depot Members Gallery (2001); Wilkes Art Gallery, Wilkesboro, NC (upcoming, 2002). He has conducted highly successful workshops for the Kingsport (TN) Arts Guild; The Arts Depot in Abingdon (VA); Cheap Joe's, Boone (NC) for the High Country Watermedia Association. His work is represented in private and corporate collections nationwide.

Buttermilk Road

Where have all the flowers gone?