A word about Dean
I’ve known him since boyhood. Dean Torges grew up feral in St. Clairsville, a small town tucked into the folds of eastern Ohio. His father died early and he became the respected companion of gray hunters and sly poachers in battered pick-up trucks, more a part of the seasons than of the town.
With the exception of a university education and teaching at Ohio State, he never abandoned that deep-woods parent or the already antiquated life that fit him like a familiar flannel shirt. But he didn't abandon society, either. He took philosophy and literature into the woods, and brought out his own reflections, and an easy, fresh voice of expression.
He stood for a time among the outstanding art woodworkers in American shows. High art and the production business didn't sit comfortably on his shoulders. To an outsider his life seemed to turn away from society, but his friends saw that he was progressing along his own long-laid lines, creating his own doctorate, lengthening his hunts, foraging farther, learning more.
Here is a pivot point: Dean met the wooden bow. He became enthralled by the discipline and beauty of the bow's plainness. It was a tool that demanded skill in its creation and dedication to its use. Once again, returning to old ways wasn't a regression but another step on his personal path. That path has taken him the length and breadth of this country, and to Alaska and Germany, Africa, and Australia, hunting and giving bow-making seminars.
I'm making Dean sound more solemn and respectable than he actually is. He’s charming, yes, but vaguely larcenous and volatile. I would trust him with my life but not my dignity. You’ll meet him yourself through these pages.
The Jan Adkins Studio
25 Wildwood Lane