Falling in Love with the Process: A Look into Howard Tibbal's Lifelong Creation
He took the long way there, along the Florida coast, past the beautiful beaches, because he knows I like the scenic route.
When we arrived at our destination, a tour guide with blonde hair greeted us at the door.
“Is this your first time here?” She asked.
“It’s mine,” I said, “Not his.”
“Visit Ca d'Zan first,” she said, “You’ll enjoy it.”
“Okay,” I smiled, “Thanks.”
We followed the long paved path, noticed the moss drooping from the branches of the Bayan trees, John Ringling’s mansion sat prominently in the distance.
When we reached the side door, I followed Trevor inside, dazzled, as we walked through the venetian-inspired foyer, dining room and ballroom.
Our heads tilted upwards, eyes peeled at the marble staircase and hand carved plaster ceilings.
Learning about this history of the mansion made me imagine what it must’ve been like to dance in that ballroom. To be a guest at the table. To be a woman in the 1930s. It must’ve been hard, I thought. I wouldn’t trade where I am standing for anything.
Later, after leaving the mansion, we arrived the Ringling Museum.
I had no idea what to expect until I saw it.
A sprawling (three-quarter-inch-to-the-foot) replica of the Ringling Brothers Circus created by Howard Tibbals.
Every specimen that would have been in the real-life 1930s circus was there. The people. The trains. The storefronts with shelves stocked with produce and bread products, miniature cars and people walking to and fro. Not to mention, the massive Big Tent, acrobats, clowns, elephants, tigers... the whole bit.
Just like the ballroom, I took it all in, imagining Tibbals creating this masterpiece during the many phases of his life. Perhaps, he painted that miniature chair on a random Saturday morning after working in the yard, built a train track on the eve of his 43rd birthday, sculpted a ticket-booth just days before celebrating his 20th wedding anniversary with his wife—all speculation of course. Maybe none of that is true.
I felt so fascinated by this man’s lifelong commitment to his work. Annoyingly, I couldn’t help but compare myself to him, noting the way my work feels so abstract sometimes. I do it everyday, willingly, excitedly, because it’s something I love—but the product of my labor is not so concrete, so visibly apparent as the masterpiece that laid before me.
“Talk about delayed gratification,” I said to Trevor standing next to me.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s about that,” he said, “For him, it was probably just for the love of doing it.”
I nodded in agreement, supposing the only way to do anything with that much love and attention was to do it detached. To let the work be reward enough.
The journey of building a personal brand is true in the same regard. If you go into it wanting the followers, the status, the recognition, the virality: you won’t find what you’re looking for. It never works that way.
The trick is to find what you love, keep doing it, and use social media as a tool to share your work with others.
Just like Tibbals, it may take your whole life, but it’s a worthy pursuit, one that gives you something better than virality: love.
Anna Vatuone
