the legacy
by anne bevan

If you are a regular reader of WNC WOMAN, you know that Asheville recently lost one of its angels.*

Temple Cassara's death this spring came at an unusual time for me since hers was one of four deaths in the scope of a month. Three were women my age or younger. Two were utterly without warning. This is not so remarkable, you may say. People die all the time. We all know this, but, do we really believe it? At some point in our life, we cross the Rubicon - between the delusion that we are swimming in an infinite sea of time and existence to the acceptance of the fragile and fleeting temporality of our earthly visit. Well, we are supposed to accept it, but I confess, every death still takes me by surprise. And then, there is that paradox. The one you love with all your heart may be gone from your life for decades, but be still for a moment and your heart will glance through the thinnest slice of time and know he is still here.Temple and I were still in the delightful “getting to know you” stage of friendship—chance encounters downtown, at art meetings or openings, or gatherings at friends’ homes—when her illness was discovered. Because the pleasure of her company usually occurred unexpectedly, I have found myself still expecting the unexpected, in the way we do when we are on “automatic pilot” —a familiar scene, a familiar place, I wonder if . . . (Think about this—how many people do you know in this way? People you are always so happy to see. People who greet you so warmly and with whom you are so sure you will enjoy the pleasure of a gradually unfolding and deepening friendship.)

She had a radiant smile—a smile that truly reflected an inner light. Did it belie her knowledge of a mysterious and complex darkness? Possibly, but one has only to address her work to know this was a woman, an artist, who embraced it all.
Perhaps this was the bond that she and I shared, the secret that intuitively drew us together—the knowledge that smiling is the supreme choice, the ultimate spiritual act of volition—connected to the immediacy of experience and transcending all experience.(There is a favorite story among her friends, of the day her dear partner was taking pictures of the flowers, gifts and altar in her room in hospice. Temple, undoubtedly not looking her best, said “Take my picture”. He hesitated, and she added, wryly, and smiling, “After all . . . it’s a moment . . .” )

After her illness, after the glorious exhibit of her work, and after she passed, we were honored by an invitation. I arrived at her house on a lovely spring day—the air filled with birdsong, flowers in the garden, flowers in the trees—and followed the little path which led around and down to the side entrance to the room where we were gathering. In the center of the room stood the empty wooden casket and surrounding it, the friends who had gathered to embellish the simple, elegant box with painted images. It was Temple’s request—a box crafted by a carpenter and painted by her friends. I picked up her brush, and a palette filled with her paint, and slowly circled this amazing work in progress. Flowers, oh yes, there were flowers, and birds, butterflies, clouds and stars—and rainbows and symbols, poems, and loving messages. For a while I could do nothing but watch it changing, growing and evolving before my eyes. What held me transfixed, however, was not the sight but the realization of this astonishing decision. With this request, Temple had simultaneously exesized her will and surrendered it completely. As every painter knows, your paint and brushes are extensions of your body, your mind . . . your soul? I can’t help but believe she was smiling when she first made this choice, and the secret pleasure I am sure she had in watching us continue her work. I had arrived with no clue what to expect or what I would add. Did she whisper in my ear (as I suddenly decided to paint grass, leaves and leaves of grass and wildflowers). And was sherecalling the pleasure we had shared in the wisdom of a bumper sticker a friend had seen around town—“BORN AGAIN! . . . and again . . . and again . . .”

We had both smiled as we agreed —this is Asheville after all.The gravity of her experience and her suffering cannot be diminished, but in her beautiful and spirited decision is a gift. (Hasn’t knowing her choice made you think of your own?) Will I have my own casket painted? Probably not, but I know what music I want—Bridge over Troubled Waters, some Vivaldi, some James Galway, and lots and lots of Jerry Garcia - and I know I want to be surrounded by pictures - photographs of everyone - and every dog! - I have loved. If there must be a headstone, please, just a plain stone and next to it a bench where someone can just sit, be still, enjoy the moment, see, hear, feel and be with it all. And one more thing . . . no, you will have to attend to find out. Like Temple, it makes me smile just to think about it.

From Temple I have learned that making the request is truly giving a gift for it allows those who honor it to know the blessing of connection.Perhaps the Rubicon does ot have such clearly defined boundaries after all. *Asheville artist, Bonnie Temple Cassara died this spring. She was featured as the centerfold artist in WNC WOMAN (Feb. 2003 issue). In addition to an impressive collection of creative work which was left as her legacy, it was her spirit that touched everyone who knew her and inspired this reflection.

Anne Bevan lives, paints, and writes in Fairview, NC. You can see her work at the Design Gallery in Burnsville, or online at annebevan.com. You’re invited to call, write, or come by the studio to visit.
[ annebevan.com; wncpainter@aol.com; Asheville, NC; 828 628 0915 ]