Unlikely Patrons, Unlikely Subject

Typically, city governments are responsible for things like garbage pickup, wastewater treatment, and pothole repair; but when the right prospect comes along, city leaders can find themselves thrust into the roles of art patrons. It’s not unprecedented. Throughout history, civic groups (like government), in addition to wealthy private citizens and religious organizations, have been the financial sources for the world’s great art—from the pyramids, Parthenon, and Coliseum to the Statue of Liberty, La Tour Eiffel, and the Vietnam Memorial. It’s a tradition that goes back to the ancient Egyptian pharoahs, who created art for their personal glorification, and, as only an afterthought, for the masses. 

But there are plenty of differences between today’s public art patrons and the ancients. Naturally, a civic leader in Louisiana (and anywhere this side of North Korea) is not considered a god on earth. There’s also the subject of resources: the all-powerful Egyptian pharaoh Ramses II had unlimited funds and could compel his minions to produce or die—certainly not powers within the scope of a Louisiana police jury or city council. 

In his role as patron, Zachary, Louisiana, Mayor David Amrhein had to convince his council that city funds should be spent to create a living memorial out of a dying live oak tree located in Memorial Park, a tiny, triangular green space surrounded by the asphalt and pavement of Church and High streets and Baker Avenue. 

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The dying tree wasn’t just any old oak tree; it was planted nearly a century ago to honor the city’s World War I veterans. A small brass plaque commemorating the sacrifice of the Great War’s fallen rested at the foot of the venerable tree. The inscription on the plate read “In Memory of the Comrades of Our Community Who Fought During the World War For God and Country.” It was the kind of tree where lovers met, where yellow ribbons were set out as reminders of family members in peril.

The old oak was in sad decline, and there seemed to be no other option but to remove the decaying landmark. But the court of public opinion cried “Save the tree!” so Amrhein consulted with higher forestry authorities: the Louisiana Department of Agriculture & Forestry (LDAF), Georgia Pacific’s forestry division, and Southern University’s Urban Forestry Department. The verdict? Cut down the tree.

LDAF forester Bret Lane said the decision to fell the tree was the correct thing to do. “The tree was dying and dropping limbs,” he said. Lane, also a resident of Zachary, added that lots of students walked under the tree on their way to school. There was a chance someone could be hurt.

The mayor made the painful and potentially unpopular decision to drop the oak, but political salvation arrived in the form of arborist Scott Courtright, who presented a public relations plan worthy of the finest Madison Avenue firm. Let art save the day, Courtright proposed. “I saw the story on the news and heard the mayor had consulted with forestry officials,” Courtright said. “I called him up and asked for fifteen minutes.”

Courtright examined the tree and agreed it was beyond saving, but not beyond redemption. The forty-one-year-old arborist suggested removing the tree branch by branch; any limb three inches in circumference would be fashioned into a commemorative “cookie” that Courtright could give to students during his many elementary and middle school forestry lectures. Four-inch branches would find new life in patron homes and gardens as keepsakes meant to spawn resurrection ferns. The story of Zachary’s Great War sacrifices, Courtright said, would be told time and time again. 

Left: This memorial sculpture was carved out of the remains of a dying oak tree in Zachary, Louisiana.

The final part of Courtright’s plan involved carving an eagle at rest—a symbol of America and its veterans—into the remaining ten-foot stump. The person chosen for the project was sixty-year-old Burt Fleming, an artist whose tool of choice was the chainsaw. “I knew some wood carvers and knew of Burt, but I didn’t know he lived in Zachary,” Courtright said. “Burt was a natural choice.”

The city timed announcement of the plan for Veterans Day 2013. Veterans Day, formerly called Armistice Day (November 11), was the day the Great War ended. It was supposed to be the “War That Ends All War.”

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In the 1965 movie The Agony and the Ecstasy, depicting the intellectual struggle between Pope Julius II and Michelangelo during the painting of the Sistine Chapel, the great Italian painter Raphael described to Michelangelo the life of the artist: 

“For what is an artist in this world but a servant, a lackey for the rich and powerful? Before we even begin to work, to feed this craving of ours, we must find a patron, a rich man of affairs, or a merchant, or a prince or ... a Pope. We must bow, fawn, kiss hands to be able to do the things we must do or die.”

Michelangelo replied, “If it comes to that, I won’t be an artist.” 

Raphael scoffed, “You’ll always be an artist. You have no choice.”

It’s hard to picture Fleming kissing a papal ring; but he, like Michelangelo, had no choice but to be an artist. 

Fleming found his calling while working as a machinist. “I was operating a grinder, running an operation that was going to take two hours to complete,” Fleming said. “As I watched the machine do its work, I picked up a broken broom handle from the trash can. I made a couple of cuts and saw an ear. I carved an elephant with two ears, a trunk, and a tusk out of a broom handle.” 

In that proud moment fourteen years ago, Fleming metamorphosed from machinist to artist and never looked back. Under-motivated in his role as a machinist, Fleming fully embraced his artistic talent. He was going to be an artist, by golly, and a tree trunk was going to be his medium.

 To prove it time and again, Fleming goes to extraordinary lengths for his art. He spends nearly half the year demonstrating his art at county fairs from Texas to Tennessee and Mississippi to Missouri, often sculpting eight, four-foot sculptures in two days. Life on the road can be grueling, but it’s the life of the artist.

He also understands the whim of the patron.

“I’ll do carvings, but I prefer to do demonstrations at fairs and such,” Fleming said. “That’s what pays the bills.”

County fairs notwithstanding, it’s Fleming’s talent that pays the bills. It’s also his hard work that creates a piece of art from a lifeless tree trunk.

First, he must make sure the chainsaw teeth are sharp. Each individual jag must be finely honed to a razor’s edge. The chainsaw has to be reliable and start with one crank, the oil-to-gas mixture must be perfect, and the saw itself must have a good balance or it could mean the difference between sculpting a bird’s beak or a bear’s snout.

Then there’s the hours spent at the medium, noisily chopping away until a bird, a dog, a bear, or a bas relief of The Last Supper appears. 

Shaping an egret from an unwieldy chunk of oak, pine, or cypress not only requires talent, but physical stamina melded with reliable machinery. Creating a piece of art for the public square requires a need, resources, imagination, and the political will to complete such a task. The town of Zachary made it happen.

“The chest of the Eagle faces toward Zachary High School so it receives you into Zachary,” Courtright observed. “Its head is faced toward the church across the street.”

The sculpture, treated with insect-resistant material, is expected to last for twenty years. By then the newly planted, replacement oak may be big enough to provide a bit of shade for the descendants of World War I’s sacrifice. 

The City of Zachary proved to be a worthy art patron. “It was the right thing to do,” Courtright said.

Dona nobis pacem. 

Details. Details. Details. 

The Freedom Eagle can be viewed at Zachary’s Memorial Park, located at the intersection of High Street and Baker Avenue.

Burt Fleming
Wood B Creations Shop
13233 Hooper Road, Central, La.
(open when Burt is in town)
(225) 261-4900 • woodbcreations.com