Mural Four
ROAD TO CAROLINA
In the series painted by Francis V. Kughler for the
Institute of Government building in Chapel Hill
Long before ihc American Revolution, many peaceful groups
moved into North Carolina to establish new homes for them¬
selves and their families. They were religious groups and some¬
times political refugees, comprising many nationalities — Scotch,
Swiss, German, and Scotch-lrish. They were not animated by
greed or adventure or the desire for wealth, but came to set their
roots in the land; ready to till the soil and live by the sweat
of their brows; to build and not to destroy. To them the virgin
land was the land of hope and new bright destiny. They were
imbued with great moral convictions and faith in Divine Provi¬
dence. These were the qualities I set out to capture on this canvas.
My composition in this painting is a somewhat similar arrange¬
ment to the one I had in the painting of Queen Elizabeth and
Raleigh — a design with only one or two persons in the center
and a large group to one side treated as a single mass. The two
murals arc not in exact relation to each other — the Elizabeth
and Raleigh being first and this the fourth of the five murals.
But the off-center repetition and the syncopation produced an
effect of freedom I considered essential to the wall.
I did not anticipate much real trouble with Ihc painting of the
theme; I knew my subject pretty thoroughly and had gone to great
trouble to acquire factual and detailed information. My wife and
I had been to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and to Bethlehem.
Pennsylvania, were we talked to lay leaders and bishops of the
Moravian Church.
The scene depicts two caravans on the road to Carolina. It is
morning and the Moravian group, led by Count Nicolaus von
/.inzendorf, is already on the march. The count is riding a brown
horse and shaking hands with the leader of the Scottish group
which is in process of breaking camp. In the distance the
Moravian caravan winds over the mountains and to Ihc far right,
near a deep gorge, horses arc being hitched to the covered wagons.
The center group is composed of a young married couple astride
a white horse. The husband rides with a gun across his thighs for.
despite the presence of friendly Indians in the area, deadly attacks
occurred on the Moravians as well as on others. Behind him in
the saddle is his pretty bride who smiles happily. My original plans
for the mural called for friendly Indians accompanying the
Moravian line of march as well as mingling with the Scots. But
somehow as the painting developed this did not express the mood
I had in mind.
I thought of many ways to eliminate the Indians but nothing
I could think of was an improvement. It was not only that the
Indians seemed wrong, but something vital was missing. I hadn't
caught the quality of exultant faith I had in mind when I started. I
left the mural hanging on the wall and studied it day after day
while working on other things. Almost a year passed but time
didn't change my feelings.
Then one momentous day my wife read in the newspaper that
the oldest Moravian Church in America at Lititz, Pennsylvania,
the heart of the Moravian community, had burned down. We
decided to visit the church; I wanted to sec if some idea would
develop. The pastor had been on vacation at the time of the fire
and had hurried back, arriving just as we got there. The catastrophe
had not been his fault, but it was a great Wow to him. Even
though pale and upset, the determined way he took the situation
in hand impressed me. We did not have the heart to bother him
at that time but wandered across the street to the Moravian Girls’
College where we interviewed some of the instructors. While there
a beautiful, brazen chord sounded from a room beyond us, and
in resonant harmony an old hymn, rich with the praise of the
Lord, filled the air.
"For God's sake, what is that?" I asked our escort. "It is
magnificent."
"That’s our trombone choir," he said in pleased tones. "Would
you like to watch them play?"
He led us along the hall, while the mellow chords rang ever
more clearly in our cars, and we entered a large room. Seated
in a group were four persons with different sized trombones — a
young girl, an elderly man, 3nd two youths. They were so intent
on their playing that they didn’t notice us; their sheer joy in the
profoundly exalted music was apparent on their faces. We silently
withdrew.
Our escort told us that these trombone quartets were traditional
and were called "Trombone Choirs." He said that the earliest
Moravians to arrive in North Carolina had many skillful musicians
and composers among them. This was exactly what I had been
looking for; I had my idea. The combination of the distressed
but purposeful pastor and the sound of the glorious music of the
trombone choir gave me just the right key. I knew that I could
use this motif in place of the Indians in the original plan.
Now I am at ease, for on the canvas the people of the
caravans move into the promised land to the harmonies of a
trombone choir and the skirling of bagpipes, singing hymns of
praise to God wi:h the exhilaration of religious freedom in their
nostrils, and in their hearts the everlasting music of the spheres.
!□
THE STATE. AUOUIT 19. 1961
