UNLIKE OTHER STORIES, that of the Mustard
Room is not necessarily one of high drama
and international intrigue... The story is
however, a true story. Yes, it is a story as
true as a lover's kiss. And like so many a
story before her own time, this one starts
with a dream...
The dream began in the wildly overactive yet
unfocused imagination of a small town boy
made good. We'll call this strapping young
chap G. Earnest Blanston. After fulfilling
his obligated four years of study at the
Safeway Preparatory School for the Morally
Apprehensive, young Gurn--as friends often
called him--received his certificate of
graduation which he immediately sold at a
reasonable rate to a sketchy unnamed
character whom he was never to cross paths
with again. Gurn's winnings offered him a
chance to spend several years abroad
studying the finer arts such as Parliament
kilt knitting and cinder block tapestry. As
time passed--as time often does--Gurn
excelled in all of his studies. He seemed
destined to pave a new road which would lead
modern man into the next great Renaissance.
Yet Gurn soon found that he had grown lonely
in his train-hopping bohemian lifestyle. He
had acquired no real sense of fulfillment or
satisfaction in such worldly conquests. In
desperate pursuit of another soul to act as
muse, confidante and euchre partner Gurn
returned to his western homeland. After
several months in solitude, meditating on
the Judeo-Christian Scriptures and listening
to a small stack of 12" long playing vinyl
records including Cat Stevens' Teaser and
the Firecat, Simon & Garfunkel's Bridge Over
Troubled Water, Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska
and The Smurfs All Star Show played at 45
rpm's. Then Gurn began to write...
As if there were no tomorrow, Gurn began
pouring his ideas, meditations, inquiries
and dreams into composition pads. Like a
lovelorn hobo, Gurn wandered throughout the
live-long day, in and out of conversations
with passersby, old friends and new loves.
He would return to his flat each evening
with a well lived-in journal, sit before his
Remington typewriter with a fresh steeped
cup of green tea and begin punching words.
Steadily, the words continued to migrate
from his daily ritual to whatever scrap of
parchment he could find and yet some elusive
piece of this jigsaw haunted his creative
endeavors. Up in arms, Gurn considered
returning to the wool and cinder of his past
before seeking the council of a new
acquaintance, an eccentric known as Hector
Laveta. Laveta used an abandoned parking lot
just outside of Gurn's flat as a modern day
coliseum/studio/preaching pulpit where he
often attracted a crowd of curious observers
and law enforcement. At Laveta's violent
insistence, Gurn accepted the gift of his
dusty black six-string named "Ol' Blackie".
Gurn spent every spare moment of his days
and nights wrapping his abnormally long
fingers around the bowed neck of his new
friend, awkwardly forming the shapes of
chords and rhythm. He often felt like giving
in to the cramping and the calluses when
they began, but Laveta would not allow him
lose focus as he gave him unusual scale
exercises steeped in metaphor. Laveta was
the Miyagi to Gurn's LaRusso. Eventually,
Gurn had come to realize what had been
taking shape. His poems, limericks and
unmistakable ramblings began to wrap
themselves around chords progressions and
rhythm patterns evolving quickly into verse,
lyric and songs. He had woven from the
threads of conversation and meditation a
narrative telling of broken lives, broken
relationships and redemption.
In the two thousand and first year of our
Lord, after marrying his college sweetheart,
Martha Jane H'ordeux, Gurn and his new bride
moved into a humble abode nestled beneath
the shade of many towering oaks. It was
between the mustard walls of one tiny room
in that small home where Gurn and Laveta
would begin the creative collective known
today as "the Mustard Room." Since those
early days, many other collaborators have
joined them in their journey.
The Mustard Room has been a place where the
visual meets the written word, music meets
narrative and creation meets Creator. Not
unlike a tiny mustard seed, this Mustard
Room has grown into something much bigger.
The Mustard Room is community, a place to
hang one's proverbial hat, a place to enjoy
a hot cup of coffee on a brisk autumn
morning. The Mustard Room is a place of
creation and being created. |
