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MAGAZINE ARTICLE FOR CHALLENGE MAGAZINE
While Terry Mason sits with hands crossed and head slightly bowed I’m struck by his reverential posture. Perhaps the mood of the moment is defined by the specifics of the environment. We’re seated together in a graveyard in Sudbury’s West End. It’s a Sunday morning on one of November’s typically bleak days.
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Photo by Dan Racicot |
Terry Mason, who currently owns and operates Heron Creek Collectibles, has experienced many incarnations in his 64 years. Shoe Salesman, retail store owner, real estate salesman, landlord, and now maker of barn board furniture, have all played their part in shaping the character of the man who sits reposed in the silence of the moment. There are many pauses in our discussion, some pregnant with expectation, others left open and vulnerable to the yawning void. But the silence is comforting. I sense neither of us feel anxious about it. Terry and I have known each other long enough to feel at ease. In fact the quiet is a welcome respite from the intrusive world of technology and the maddening distractions it brings in its wake.
And the moment gives me the chance to relate to Terry on a more tactile level. With hands folded together I notice the definition of his strong forearms sculpted from endless hours working with wood – cutting, shaping, twisting, hammering and painting. His body is fit and lean. I’m tweaked by a shiver of jealousy and inadequacy. I’m a generation younger than Terry. I should be in such good shape.
“To take something that is nothing and to make something out of it … that’s the essence of creativity”, he says in response to a question posed earlier. Terry has set the tone for a personal narrative that touches on the mystical. The source of his creativity is being drawn form the depths of uncertainty – an uncertainty measured by his cryptic descriptions of how he relates to his work. “I’ll pick up a piece of wood without even knowing what I’m going to do with it at the time. But my instinct tells me it’s kind of unique or neat in some way. Then when I add other pieces it begins to take shape and I finally discover what I’m going to make from it.”
His statement strikes me as a man who has faith in the process. He does not struggle with the need to foresee an outcome, a clearly delineated result. It’s okay to be immersed in the act of working, contented with each moment as it unfolds. I sense Terry is being called to an inner mystery he feels compelled to express through his craft. And I admire the total attention he devotes. To be so imbued with the present moment, freed from the frenetic activity of the mind is liberating. A setting sun, the act of love, the construction of a particular expression that demands nothing less than perfection, have, in their unique ways, drawn me to similarly formative experiences.
Terry’s demeanor is marked by a sense of purpose. There is thought invested into his economy of words, in his reflective gaze, even in posture changes which seem to come only after he has placed his attention into the act of deliberately shifting positions. His engagement with the world, seemingly drawn from a deep well-spring of quietude, remind me of a powerful phrase I recently encountered. Mary Walsh, a follower of the obscure 20th Century philosopher and thinker, George Gurdjieff, spoke of meaningfulness in this way:
We are always looking in the wrong place for purpose, for meaning. We are heavy-laden with this big, blind automaton. Only in moments when our functioning is slowed down does the unengaged purpose appear. What is our life for? What in hell are we doing here?
Mason is a man who, through the pain of his own life, has learned to slow down. I do not know if his life purpose has emerged from the depths yet. But he has been making one hell of an effort.
His attempts at becoming his own man, of establishing a sovereignty of self-hood have not been without challenges. He has endured debilitating bouts of depression over the years. The sudden twists in career paths and economic insecurities took their toll as well. Developing the inner mettle to deal with life’s vicissitudes came only much later. “Recessions had a huge impact on my well being. It meant I couldn’t do what I wanted. Economics determined my fate while in retail and then in real estate. At the time these changes were not pleasant.”
With the benefit of hindsight, Mason feels he would have chosen a different path. But at the time he could only deal with the fate that was thrust upon him. “I can remember going to my pastor and pleading, ‘Why me?’” he said, echoing a sentiment that has reverberated down through the ages to the dawn of human suffering. But in the crucible of his pain his perceptions morphed into something larger. “I later began to think, ‘why not me?’ We think we are immune to tragedy or upset or disaster. We’re so attached to ourselves that we think it always happens to the other guy. Until the day it happens to us,” he said, adding that it was only after becoming attached to a support group that he realized others have their share of disasters.
Mason has been a staunch supporter and a regular participant at the weekly “Man To Man” support and educational groups established by Dan Racicot, publisher of this magazine and founder of Mountaintop Enterprises. His interaction with other members brought him to the conclusion that he is not alone in his suffering. It also has helped him develop more effective techniques of communication that have served him well in developing relationships of inter dependence, instead of the neediness attached to codependent couplings he felt characterized his interaction with others. But challenging his perceived shortfalls are not enough. His need to know the source of his problems sent him on a quest that eventually brought him to Thomas Moore’s popular book, Care of the Soul. “Moore thinks a lot of depression stems from neglect in childhood. It tweaked my interest to see if, in fact, that’s where some of my depression came from,” he says. Time for another pregnant pause before Mason proceeds to connect Moore’s theory to the relevance of his own life. “I had a passive father who was uncommunicative in many ways.” The connection is dropped. Mason is more riveted on the need to deal in the present with challenges he faces rather than dwell too much on their origins.
There is an alchemical thread that weaves together Terry’s inner and outer lives. The impulse toward qualitative change is evident in both aspects of his life. In his work he takes aged and discarded wood retrieved from rubbish heaps and transforms them into objects of lasting beauty. The effect of his work on his inner life is measurable and profound. Mason sees working with barn wood as a vehicle through which he is able to transform his psychological and emotional states. “Many times I’ll go out into the yard to begin work, But I really don’t feel like doing anything. But I’ll begin in spite of how I feel. It’s like a breakthrough in that I’m plowing through an invisible barrier and all of a sudden I am enjoying it. Pushing through the negative feelings is like pushing through the darkness into the light.” The biblical references do not escape his attention. “Behold, all things become new,” he says with a warm, embracing smile.
For professional results, contact Marek Krasuski at (705) 675-5571 or by email: news@marekkrasuski.com
Marek Krasuski writes for:
thesudburystar.com | northernbusinessjournal.ca | offroadproductions.ca |