Proving both sayings that “the best-laid plans go awry” and “when life give you lemons, make lemonade,” my family and I went to a museum in Maryland on a Sunday to see our cousin Percy Martin’s exhibit only to discover that the building was closed. One of my sisters persuaded a maintenance man to unlock the art building’s side door, yet the gallery itself was also closed. Prominently displayed on the gallery window were the hours: Mon-Fri from 11 AM-4PM.
Unexpected Historical Facet
We saw other paintings and a set of cardboard pieces arranged in 3D shapes, which were obviously class projects. The exhibit that resonated with me was the brief history lesson about systemic racism in the surrounding area. After seeing on the news how Floridian institutions have been under attack for such content, it was refreshing to witness.
A Deeper Dive
We couldn’t find anyone else in the building to open the gallery. One of my sisters questioned two different people in the parking lot as we were about to leave. Both said they couldn’t open the gallery, so she texted Percy’s daughter to see if we could visit the artist himself. In the meantime, she called another cousin who had attended the artist talk the month before.
Lunch Break
While sitting in the car, talking to our cousin in attempt to come up with Plan B, my sister spotted a third person in the parking lot. She handed off her phone to our sister to approach that person. Next thing we knew, they started walking out of the parking lot in the opposite direction of the museum. By the time I realized that none of us had any means to communicate with her, she and the dude she’d approached were out of sight. All I could think of was, “What a perfect ‘Taken’ situation and none of us have a special set of skills.” I just prayed that that unsuspecting dude was a nice guy with no general woman-abduction scenarios in his back pocket.
Before We Go
After an uncomfortable amount of time, she returned, telling us that the guy had escorted her to the student union in hopes that someone there would have keys to the museum or the student union gallery. They’d struck out on both pursuits. I told her next time to use someone else’s phone to call her phone and check in with us. She hadn’t thought of that, but at least she was fine.
Humble Beginnings of an Artist
Our Plan B: go over to another cousin’s house who lived near Percy. We’d finally heard back from Percy’s daughter who invited us to come over for a visit after two. That was a few hours away, so we had an enjoyable time at our cousin’s house, including eating pizza since we were out later than anticipated. Originally, we wanted to hit the road back to NC by then, but we figured talking to the artist himself would make the whole trip worth while.
Prolific Artist
We truly got more than we bargained for. My cousin and her husband drove separately to Percy’s house since they showed us how to get there and would drive back home. Instead they stayed the entire time, which turned out to be over an hour, thanks to me.
Passing on the Knowlege
As soon as we arrived at Percy’s house, I introduced myself to him and asked if I could interview him for my podcast. He was ready to go. As a matter of fact, he invited me into his studio where we had a quieter environment to conduct the recording. He started, unprompted, telling me his story.
Here was an artist who had been interviewed so many times, he already knew several places to begin, leaving me to catch up. When he took a breath, I informed him that I was recording, which I don’t know if he cared or not, but it still seemed like the ethical thing to do.
From there, I was amazed at the life he led during his childhood when he discovered at age 8 that he wanted to be an artist and the famous people who he crossed paths with by virtue of living in D.C. As enthralled as I was by his back to back stories that flowed from one to the next, I was mindful of the time.
My original plan was to keep the interview at a tight 30 minutes, but he was still going strong with his storytelling. Once we blew through the 30-minute mark, I watched him to see if I detected a look of fatigue cross his face as did when I’d interviewed one of my uncles who was in his 90s. No such look appeared since I believe he’d had a nap prior to our visit. Not only that, but he admitted once the interview concluded that no one had been by to see him in a while. Such a heartbreaking admission to hear from a vibrant storyteller.
Another cousin, who had attended his artist talk a month earlier, shared her photographic documentation of the event:
