Page 262 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Reminiscences

the morning, he had more time to carve bigger pieces. I did show
him how to paint the ends of cut branches to cure them; but if one
little crack develops, it can’t be closed again, even with pressure. Of
course, the smaller branches have less danger of cracking. But most
of his big figures did crack. He didn’t go looking for woods that were
easier to dry; he just used whatever was at hand.
He did most of his carving down in his basement, which he
enlarged after he was at home more. In the winter, if it was cold, he
would work on the kitchen table. I made turned bases for his pieces,
but I don’t remember the circumstances. You know, he was even less
sociable than I am. You couldn’t invite him out to eat in a restaurant;
he had seen how filthy restaurant kitchens were, and didn’t want any
part of it. And he couldn’t carry on a conversation with strangers.
Today, a man like him probably wouldn’t go into truck farming; he
would become a teacher. He read the old philosophers, and
mentioned them at appropriate times, but mostly he downgraded
everything he came across—including the juvenile stories in the
Bible.

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