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Billy Riddle displays some of his earlier pieces. |
Billy Riddle's conversation flows with pearls of wisdom
learned in the face of hardship that leaves listeners
astounded at insights that are at once simple and
profound.
"Everybody has so much good and so much bad inside, but
only so much energy," he says in the soothing, patient
tones of a spiritual mentor. "If we use all our energy on
good, maybe the bad will starve."
The Cedar Grove artist, who will turn 40 on June 9, hones
his philosophies of life in tandem with creativity that
expresses itself in his writings, in song, and - most
recently - in the sculpture he first set his hand to a
year ago in March when disability took him away from his
former labors as a welder.
"All of a sudden I was out of the work place and exposed
to time," he says. "What do you do when have a lot of time
and nothing to do with it? You're confronted with yourself
then, and you can't just give up."
Riddle found in sculpture healing for his troubled mind.
Using hand-held pneumatic rotary die grinders, he coaxes
from the cast-off end of utility poles various
interpretations of Christ - walking on water, enduring the
crucifixion, the trinity caught within the confines of
Jesus as man.
Sculpture number 9 will be the last piece made from
a utility pole and the first one offered for sale. |
Through his sculpture, Riddle seeks to inspire in a way
that is not limited or confused by the perceptions imposed
by language. "Everybody has his own philosophy," he says.
"This, being visual, exceeds words; it will say to people
what it needs to say instead of what I want it to say. It
is, in a sense, kind of a perfected praise."
Even his choice of medium has meaning: He explains in
reverential tones, "I see that tree cut down for the
purpose of making telephone poles, then they chunked off
these ends - pieces of wood that are worthless. They're so
full of poison bugs won't eat them. To think of finding
God in something that appears to have no worth at all is
inspiring."
The very poison that turns hungry bugs away from the
creosote-soaked wood has convinced Riddle to stop using
the poles in favor of wood cured on the stump, after
reading OSHA's guidelines regarding the hazardous
chemicals in telephone poles.
It's ironic, he says, that the last piece carved from a
utility pole will be the first sculpture offered for sale.
Each of the previous eight sculptures has been a gift to
friend or family.
"I wish I didn't have to change wood," he says
reflectively as he considers sculpture number nine. He
wants to change his technique in fashioning the crown of
thorns this time, a challenge he sees as an adventure. "If
you take it off, you can't put it back on," he smiles,
daring himself on. "It's like, 'Can you do it?' There is a
great sense of gratification - satisfaction - when it's
done. That's good for a fragile ego like mine."
Riddle has a good handle on fragile egos as well as
healthy ones. "The poor souls that aren't insecure are
misunderstood and looked on as arrogant," he contemplates
humorously, before revealing depression is the disability
that removed him from the workforce.
The type of depression from which Riddle suffered is
termed bipolar disorder. He describes the affect as "all
the passions are in overdrive, they're either really,
really high or really low."
He accepted the chemical imbalance with a degree of humor:
"Right now I'm considered a crazy artist," he grins, "but
if I ever get recognized as an artist I'll be considered
eccentric. A lot of people feel down on themselves because
have awkward times and they can't measure up to
everybody's standards. We have to decide, 'This is my
standard and this is my good.' Anything bad that happens
to a person has something good come with it, and if we
look at it that way we might find it - I found mine."
Riddle is far from alone in his condition, with some
mental health professionals estimating 54 million
Americans have some kind of mental disorder in any given
year. Of those, only about eight million seek treatment,
primarily because of the stigmas associated with mental
illness, or hesitation to admit they are struggling with
depression, anxiety, and other uncomfortable emotions and
behaviors.
"Normal is only a setting on your dryer," says one
physician, "We all have some form of mental illness; it's
just a matter of degrees."
"I'm just glad to have goals and hope," Riddle says. "I
couldn't ask for more support than I have received from
the West Carroll Arts Department. They really encourage
me; they look for things I can participate in and meet
other artists."
He is working toward having his current work completed by
June 8 when Carroll Arts presents "An Evening with Carroll
Arts" at 7:00 p.m. at the Bethel College Student Center.
"Anybody who goes to this arts fair on the 8th will be
amazed at the talent in this region," Riddle says. "It's
quite creative and very enjoyable."
Riddle's own work he envisions as having "the look of
premier art from a primitive age," a phrase that in fact
describes quite well his technique, though he says his
earlier works are "even more primitive looking" than later
accomplishments.
"I'm trying to capture an heirloom quality; something that
will look nice in a church sanctuary or anybody's home,"
he says, "They seem to add a certain ambience in a room."
Time may bring more changes to his techniques if he is
able to expand his selection of tools, allowing him to
work faster and in greater detail. "I don't have any
reciprocating chisels, but I have a wish book that has all
kinds of groovy tools in it," he says with a chuckle, his
vocabulary the product of the "oldies" radio station he
listens to.
He was listening to the station late one evening as he
prepared to add the gloss of polyurethane to sculpture
number seven, the piece entitled, "I am walking on water."
Knowing the finish magnifies any errors or unwanted tool
marks, he prayed that God would show him any areas needing
extra attention as he examined the contours of the flowing
robes, windblown hair and rippling waves of the sculpture.
Satisfied, he drew the brush across the top of the
sculpture and stopped, transfixed. Unseen without the
enhancing gloss, a cross had appeared on the top of the
sculpture.
"At that very moment on the oldies channel the song 'Going
up to the spirit in the sky' came on," he said, singing
the verse. "Next the instrumental 'Walk Don't Run' came on
and after that 'Come on people now, Smile on your brother,
Everybody get together,'" he sang. "Between the music and
my imagination and maybe mixed with fumes from the
polyurethane I had to peel myself off the ceiling," he
recalls with a big smile. "I was delighted; it's not often
we find that kind of satisfaction that can't be
purchased."
Riddle is careful to say that he's "not real righteous"
lest anyone misinterpret his efforts as self-righteous. He
does have hopes and dreams for the future, that he
alternately describes as goals and fantasies, that someday
his art "will be revered to a degree that it can be used
in a raffle and maybe fetch enough to finance a soup line
for a month."
"Wouldn't that be awesome?" he says, his humanity and
ambition intermingling in positive action. His only regret
is that he wishes he had discovered the hidden talent 20
years ago. "Anyway, it's not too late, they'll last longer
than I do," he says.
Taking nothing for granted, he dates, numbers, and
initials every sculpture beneath its base, adding
photographic documentation for good measure. "I learned
that from watching the Antique Road Show," he grins,
"Someday the lower numbers may really be of value."
He hasn't abandoned his former talents as a "writer,
linguist, lyricist and shadetree musician," recently
penning a humorous but touching tribute to his wife,
Valerie, on the occasion of her birthday.
One of his favorite serious poems, entitled, "King Pen",
reads: "A pen is my scepter, and words are my crown - my
subjects are all who hear. I am a king with the heart of a
poet; I have jesters with smiles and jeers. The jewels I
wear are colorful descriptions of all the passion I feel,
and every page is my kingdom; though small, it is so
real."
Billy and Valerie have three children: Elijah, age 18;
Caleb, 16, and Julie, 13. With their differing pursuits -
Elijah is an athlete, Julie is involved in the band as a
member of the colorguard, and Caleb is mechanically and
artistically inclined - Riddle's children embody his
conviction that art is an indispensable part of education.
"Not all kids are good at althletics and music," he says.
"Art gives kids a way to express themselves."
A family oriented man, Riddle is more than pleased that
his father, Bill, and stepmother, Carol, recently moved
from Florida to nearby Huntingdon. "It's great having them
in the neighborhood," he beams. Valerie's parents, Bill
and Rose Chism, live in Huntingdon as well. Says Riddle,
"It don't get no finer than family."
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