Last week, sadly, I learned that a former colleague died recently at age 68. His name was Clay Andrews and he was one of the founding partners of Luquire George Andrews, an advertising agency in Charlotte where I was a creative director in the early 2000s.
The last time I saw Clay was three years ago, when he did interior design consulting for the remodeling work that Bonnie and I were having done at our house. He’d been dealing with major health issues for years, and he didn’t look well when we saw him.
Even so, I was still caught totally off guard when I learned of his passing. I felt a twinge of sadness and loss as I recalled Clay's quirky sense of humor, his impeccable sense of graphic design and his gentleness. The day after hearing the news, I took a lunchtime walk in the park to clear my head. At the last minute, I decided to bring my camera along. That was a fortuitous choice.
When I got to the park, my picture-taking plan was simply to quiet my mind and follow my instincts. An inner voice told me that if I listened deeply, I'd be drawn to an image that spoke to the heart and spirit of Clay.
Before long, I came to a scene that reached out to me in a quiet, compelling way. On the ground in front of me, I noticed the shadows of bare tree branches accompanied by the shadow of a light pole. It was graphically appealing, but in hindsight I now see it as something more than that. I see the small central tree extending its arms to embrace its two very dissimilar companions – a story of welcoming and accepting others around us despite our differences. Clay would appreciate that interpretation.
As a final step in creating the image shown above, I converted the photo to black and white and then reversed the tones to impart a surreal, dreamlike mood. I think the designer in Clay would appreciate that graphic treatment.
But that photo wasn't the end of the story.
While I was peering through my camera's viewfinder to photograph the shadows on the ground, I heard a skateboarder approaching quickly from my left. Keeping my eye in the viewfinder, I clicked the shutter as he raced across the frame.
When I look at this skateboard version of the picture, I hear Clay telling us: "We're all just passing through, you know. It happens fast. Y'all enjoy the ride while you can."
I hear you, Clay. I'm grateful I had the opportunity to share the ride with you during the five years we worked together.
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