Published: April 08, 2008 06:59 am      

Traveling artist walks America

His trek began in 1992 from Northern California.

Since then, when his sign painting business grinded to a near halt, Marc Charlebois, 55, has hoofed it more than 22,000 miles and crossed 21 states.

There appears to be no end to the journey for this walking man.

Monday, the artistic wanderer wound his way through Woodward on U.S. Highway 412 on his way north to Nebraska.

“This all started with dead fish, computers and a bad back,” said the artist as he rubbed a thoughtful thumb across the canvas cover of a tiny wagon that carried all his possessions.

Despite his bad back, the result of a childhood injury, it has taken Charlebois roughly 25 days to cross Oklahoma as he made his way from the southeastern most corner of the state near Idabel, north to Guthrie and west to Woodward.

But it is not a destination, this journey of his. It is more a change in career, Charlebois said.

“Well, when sign making computers came about, they replaced my sign painting business, a business that while it was not a luxury living, was able to keep me going at the time,” he said.

Add to that, Charlebois said, the advent of electronic fish-finders that caused commercial fishermen to be too successful - wiping out whole sections of certain fish and later caused a governmental ban on fishing in the area - and you had the temporary end of a way of life for the sign painter who painted on fishing vessels for his living.

So Charlebois began a “walkabout” in order to offer his sign painting service to a more diverse market with the least amount of overhead costs.

Indeed, everything the artist needs for his life and his career are contained in the miniature covered wagon, easily accessible but tightly packed.

He said his journey has allowed him to meet thousands of people, some of the best people he has ever known and some of the very worst he has known.

He has been halted by illness at times and at other times, he has agreed to stop to accept a commission to create large paintings for businesses who see his talent. He has spent nights in snow covered, treeless plains and mornings slogging through the flooded streets of a Louisiana city after a gully-washer.

He has met others still, who envy his freedom and toss him money, a gesture that he believes allows them to at least be a part of a journey they will never make. Finally, he is able to see things he knows he never would have, had he let his body grow fat and lazy and allow himself to succumb to a childhood back injury.

Monday, Charlebois deftly reached into one of many tiny cubbies in the vessel and thumbed through older versions of artworks he had completed - oils that called out in colors that at the same time were muted and loud, expressive and warm. He pulled them out, enjoying again the way he allowed light to do his work for him. He will sell them if someone finds one they especially like, he said.

But all in all, Charlebois avoids spending time talking to passers-by, preferring the company of himself or a mongrel that takes up his journey like the ones that shyly followed behind him Monday.

Two skinny pups, curious about the pedestrian who hauled his load on a small wagon behind, trotted a good distance behind until he reached the edge of a Woodward and then even the two young pups stopped with cocked heads and ears perked until they could no longer see the walking man.