GOSHEN — Very few people get to work on a project relating to death in the months leading up to their own. Richard Richardson, founder of the Three Sisters Sanctuary in Goshen, is one of them.
Down a gravel path at the sanctuary off Cape Street, visitors pass several abstract machine creations. They next encounter mosaics depicting doves and a fisherman. There is also a temple-like setting with stacked rocks. They hold the weight of countless stories from those who visit, as they leave behind toys, beads, prayer cards and even poker chips from Las Vegas.
Two large rocks lean into each other and “kiss,” as Richardson envisioned. Around every corner is something whimsical, like a mannequin adorned with bright tiles seated on a bench. Or something magical, like dragons or a hobbit house.
These are the warm things in life: love, gentleness, a sense of home and belonging.
But as the journey down the path continues, it’s like entering the Sistine Chapel. A visitor is faced with Judgment Day. In his last six months, during which he had cancer, Richardson erected a ghoulish-looking figure created by the artist Alan Horwitz.
That figure is Father Time, who somewhat resembles the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come in Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” His weathered wooden corpse soars above what appears to be a graveyard: a labyrinth of upright rocks framed by a short, rusted fence.
On one of these rocks, which doubles as a place to sit, is a coffee cup. Richardson would often leave his coffee cups lying around on the property. And this was his last one, a white cup he left there three weeks ago.
This space is called “Revelation,” completed as he was looking at the end of his life.
Richardson died Oct. 6 at the age of 77 in his brightly striped home on the property. The home he built. The home his children were born in.
“I think that’s a point of pride for him,” his daughter Sara Wenona said.
Wenona and her siblings, Megan Elizabeth and Jaime Miles LaBonte, plan to keep the sanctuary running.
Despite the eerie reflection on mortality “Revelation” may appear to convey, it was part of the sanctuary’s larger project to reflect on the human condition through art and nature. It was meant to be a place to heal, a place to grieve, she said.
And death is something all of humanity has had to grapple with for as long as time.
The sanctuary began in the early 2000s after the death of Richardson’s brother.
“The purpose revealed itself,” Wenona said.
The sanctuary has been a space designed to celebrate the seasons of life, from births to weddings and even death. Many celebrations have been held there.
“His last few months were, ‘I want to be in the sun. I want to be in touch with my materials, my rocks, my family, my daughters, my stoves,'” Wenona said. “I think his advice to anybody is prioritize your passions, then follow them. Pursue the dream, and you know you might not get it, but you can’t fail. That’s not a failure.”
In one of the workshops on the property, a collection of handmade signs conveys the message that formed the backbone of Richardson’s philosophy, she said.
These include “You can make mistakes,” “Courage,” “The first day of the rest of your life” and “Believe in yourself.”
Richardson was raised in New Jersey, the “box” he had to break out of, Wenona said. He found a home in Goshen, where he began the Good Time Stove Co. and got to work restoring antique stoves.
Some of them have even been rented or purchased for movie sets, including “Killers of the Flower Moon.” Some stoves were also used in performances at the John F. Kennedy Memorial Center in Washington.
This put Richardson’s stoves in the proximity of Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro and President Barack Obama.
Richardson wasn’t trained as an artist. Wenona said he pursued whatever he found a passion for. Stoves and rocks were his leading obsessions.
“He had a really limited education, but if there was something that interested him, he pursued it,” she said. “He had learning challenges, but I don’t think he would hide from the world so much as say, ‘Hey, world, how do we work together so that I’m not hindered by them and you’re not deprived of what I could offer?'”
Maybe more than any of his art, she said, Richardson loved his wetlands, the state park nearby, the Hilltowns and the community.
“Richard would say, ‘I don’t know all the people, but I want them all to feel like this is their space. This is our space, and it existed before me, and it will exist after me,'” Wenona said.
In his final months, he wasn’t interested in talking about his cancer or even referring to his condition as a “battle.” Wenona described his last months as an “intense, focused, artistic, creative endeavor,” during which he worked on “Revelation.”
“I want to make my art, I don’t want to talk about a battle with cancer. Cancer exists, and I want to do this,” Wenona said, describing his mentality.
A key aspect of his design philosophy was, “RECYCLE, RECYCLE, RECYCLE, RECYCLE,” Wenona said emphatically. This included art.
Almost all the pieces on the property have been donated or loaned by local artists, including Bob Markey, James Kitchen and Dana Salisbury, to name just a few. Richardson was the environmental artist who played with rocks dug up on the property.
Many of the art pieces featured would be sitting in basements or barns if they weren’t on the property, she said. Wenona said her father felt that, “One’s life goes on and on as many times as it’s found useful.”
The ‘rock gods’
For 25 years, Florence excavator Mike Samson has been the man who brought Richardson’s visions to life. He laid his last two rocks with Richardson as part of the “Revelation” space.
As he walked through the sanctuary this week, he noted that he knows every detail of the intricate place. He noted the history of every turn of every labyrinth and the history of every change that has taken place. He even pointed to one boulder on which Richardson had scraped his finger, losing his nail in the process.
He said that as the sanctuary ages, it reflects the human condition of aging. Many of the rocks are in the process of cracking and crumbling, he noted as he brushed his hands against some of them.
Even rocks reflect the effects of time on life, he said.
In the early stages of developing the property into a space for art, he said, it was simply a backyard project by a man obsessed with rocks. But then people caught on and flooded in.
“He didn’t promote nothing — not to a single soul,” he said. “All of a sudden out of nowhere people were coming.”
He said that nothing can happen, no project, without the help of the “rock gods.” Almost always, Samson said, the gods were on their side.
Richardson was not always the easiest person to work with, Samson conceded. Richardson was a visionary, and knew what he wanted. He also liked constant turnover. Something erected three months earlier would be transformed into something completely different.
Samson recommended really taking the time to pay attention to innumerable details. Like how one labyrinth by Revelation is actually a compass. Try and find north. There is a rock pointing that way.
He also recommended seeing the space four times a year since the entire place transforms with the seasons.
He emphasized Richardson’s lack of training in art.
“This is just what a couple hillbillies could do,” he said.
Samson’s last project for Richardson will be designing his tombstone. There will be no more constant turnover on the property.
“I think this is it,” Samson said.
A memorial to honor Richardson will be held Oct. 24. Donations to the sanctuary in memory of Richardson can be made on their website.
