At the time of this writing, help is just beginning to land in Haiti. It will come in many forms. And while aid will arrive from all over of the world, most of it will be from the United States.

This will be so because that's the way it's always been. The generosity of the American people is unmatched, and as the scope of this horrible disaster continues to unfold, we will take our traditional seat: out in front to help those in need.

Sadly, however, once the Haitian people are dug out and the dead are counted, we'll eventually leave, and the powers of corruption, which have taken advantage of human rivalry and brutalized the Haitian people since its inception, will return. Haiti's story is one of slavery, civil war, revolution, and the spread of fear by tin-pot dictatorships.

I spent a couple of weeks there in 1985. I went with my wife and her mother.

My mother-in-law was then a principal player in an American-based nonprofit called Haiti Eye-Care. She commissioned Haitian art from all across the island and returned it to America, where it was sold to the highest bidders at gala benefits in major metropolitan areas. The profits were then returned to Haiti in the form of medical supplies and cash to help children with glaucoma. Most children suffer from this disease because most of the water supply is polluted. We went with my mother-in-law to help her gather art.

When we think of buildings here in America, we think of sturdy foundations, of rebar frames and brick or wood exteriors. We have building codes and strict rules that must be followed for solid and safe construction. In Haiti, these codes and building practices don't exist, and one of the first things a visitor will notice driving in from Toussaint L'ouverture Airport to the capital city of Port-Au-Prince is that there are essentially two distinct types of buildings.

The first are shanties, home to the poorest of the Haitian population, constructed of any and all remnant material, tin, cardboard and scraps of junk lumber. It is ironic that those living in these poorest dwellings probably survived the earthquake, because this type of construction is easily thrown off.

When looked at closely, the second type of Haitian building material looks like dried, pressed and glued Play-Doh, a sort of crumbly plaster over cinderblock.

The collapse of the National palace and cathedral in Haiti come as no surprise. There is little to no framework or underpinning to building infrastructure, just as there has never been any foundation laid for freedom and prosperity on this island nation. An earthquake will bring both buildings and the social order tumbling down.

Each day we were there, we arose early and took to the streets to find the material we would need for the benefit shows. Our daily journeys took us from the galleries of the Creole elite in Petion-Ville to the ramshackle hovels of some of the artists themselves. We collected carloads and crates of canvas, tin, wood and other bric-a-brac. At a roadside hovel, we met one of the fathers of Haitian art, Alexandre Gregoire. His primitive and childlike paintings of Haitian life were included on the ceiling of the National Cathedral, now lying in ruins.

One evening, foot-weary and sunburned, I sat with a cool drink at our hotel and looked over our day's haul. And like a revelation of truth, shining bright, I began to see something I hadn't seen yet.

The art of Haiti does not depict the poverty, pain and suffering of its people. It illustrates a celebration of vibrant colors, of reds and greens, yellows and blue. It is filled with themes of dance and harvest, of happiness, frivolity, of human solidarity, marriage and reception. It is a joyful art of hope, and it dreams of freedom. It elevates religion, wishes for prosperity and describes a soaring human spirit.

A room in my house is now filled with this art. It is wondrous, but it is also a humbling reminder to me of just how lucky we as Americans are to have the liberty and freedom we enjoy.

Geoff Cutler is owner of Cutler Tree LLC in Southern Pines and is a regular contributor to The Pilot and PineStraw magazine. Contact him at geoffcutler@embarqmail.com.