For the first time in many moons I spent a lot of time around people this weekend. I must confess that I am a very intimate person. I like groups of 4 or 5 people or fewer. Anything more than that makes me feel invisible and uncomfortable. I suppose that's the leo in me begging for attention.
Yesterday I went down to the arts festival that was happening where I live. Every city probably has one, or many depending on the city. It was a smaller neighborhood festival, not like the larger more corporate one that occurs at the beginning of the Buffalo summer. This means that the people are cooler and more relaxed. There is less of that suburbanite consumer culture colliding with the inner city artististic culture. A bottled water doesn't cost $3, and you don't need to buy some expensive piece of art to validate your contributions to local artists. It's simple and I like it better that way.
The assorted tents and displays covered 5 city blocks. There were paintings, carvings, pottery, glass, music, food, fabrics, attire, and everything in between. Although there were a few items I encountered with various degrees of desire, there were none that I desired to acquire. I'm practical, I never buy art for art's sake, unless it's something that fills a need for me or greatly impacts me emotionally.
The real reason I went was to look around and observe everything. I don't people watch as much as I used to, and I'm not sure why because it is an activity I enjoy, especially in a setting such as this. People inspire me positively and negatively, and life is so much more rich with inspiration in it don't you think? My creative juices would be drained if it weren't for other people.
I watch people's faces, I watch people's mannerisms, and I try to notice their quirks. I think all of these things are helpful to me for 3 reasons: 1- To help me better understand myself, 2- To help me better understand and relate to other people, and 3- To help me along as a writer. If I can ever sustain my creative sparks long enough to ignite a blaze of written thought, realism would be an essential element to my words. Some of my favorite movies, songs, and books are stories that make me feel. How do they make me feel? They grasp my emotions through believability. The story being told is real to me, or at least potentially real to me, and because of this I am scared, or thrilled, or overjoyed, or relieved. I'm certain any artist would enjoy a reaction from someone, good or bad. As long as it was genuine and it was a feeling that they the artist created at that moment, that's a powerful and satisfying thing. So where was I?
I watch people. I also hear them, and smell them. I don't really taste or feel them until I know them better, but that's a thought for another time.
Hearing people is pretty cool. I like to listen to people attempt to communicate. Things like someone trying to convince someone of something they are not sure of. Or listening to a stranger lying to another stranger. Hearing passion in a person's voice when they are talking about something or someone they care deeply for is also a must-hear. I really enjoy chatter and sounds.
Smells distract me when I am in mid-thought. I've discovered through the years that there are so many smells out there, and quite frankly, there are many I do not find pleasurable. I've really come to detest strong artificial odors. Things like cologne or perfume can literally bring tears to my eyes if they are used heavily, and I must confess that I don't care much for patchuli(sp?) either. I like mild, clean smells. I like the smell of freshly washed hair. I like the smell of fruit once it's been bitten one time. I love the smell of coffee in the morning. I love the smell of grass after it's been cut. I love the smell of rain. I love the smell of impending rain. I love the smell of something baking in the oven. I love the smell of a freshly cleaned woman right from the tub. I love the distinctive smells of the seasons. I love the smell of the ocean, but not really Lake Erie where I live- I guess oceans smell better than lakes.
Even though I feel I'm only beginning to babble, I am brought back to reality by the telephone ringing. I won't answer it, because I appreciate all of you who read all of this nonsense, and I owe you at least that. However the phone ringing brings me back to the reality of working a 40-hour week, the reality of preparation and of course the reality of laundry. I suppose I could try to charm all of you with my words for days on end, but that just wouldn't be realistic now would it? BUT: Would it not be realistic because I'm not really that charming or because no one has the time to type and/or read for days on end... I'll let you decide.
Yesterday I went down to the arts festival that was happening where I live. Every city probably has one, or many depending on the city. It was a smaller neighborhood festival, not like the larger more corporate one that occurs at the beginning of the Buffalo summer. This means that the people are cooler and more relaxed. There is less of that suburbanite consumer culture colliding with the inner city artististic culture. A bottled water doesn't cost $3, and you don't need to buy some expensive piece of art to validate your contributions to local artists. It's simple and I like it better that way.
The assorted tents and displays covered 5 city blocks. There were paintings, carvings, pottery, glass, music, food, fabrics, attire, and everything in between. Although there were a few items I encountered with various degrees of desire, there were none that I desired to acquire. I'm practical, I never buy art for art's sake, unless it's something that fills a need for me or greatly impacts me emotionally.
The real reason I went was to look around and observe everything. I don't people watch as much as I used to, and I'm not sure why because it is an activity I enjoy, especially in a setting such as this. People inspire me positively and negatively, and life is so much more rich with inspiration in it don't you think? My creative juices would be drained if it weren't for other people.
I watch people's faces, I watch people's mannerisms, and I try to notice their quirks. I think all of these things are helpful to me for 3 reasons: 1- To help me better understand myself, 2- To help me better understand and relate to other people, and 3- To help me along as a writer. If I can ever sustain my creative sparks long enough to ignite a blaze of written thought, realism would be an essential element to my words. Some of my favorite movies, songs, and books are stories that make me feel. How do they make me feel? They grasp my emotions through believability. The story being told is real to me, or at least potentially real to me, and because of this I am scared, or thrilled, or overjoyed, or relieved. I'm certain any artist would enjoy a reaction from someone, good or bad. As long as it was genuine and it was a feeling that they the artist created at that moment, that's a powerful and satisfying thing. So where was I?
I watch people. I also hear them, and smell them. I don't really taste or feel them until I know them better, but that's a thought for another time.
Hearing people is pretty cool. I like to listen to people attempt to communicate. Things like someone trying to convince someone of something they are not sure of. Or listening to a stranger lying to another stranger. Hearing passion in a person's voice when they are talking about something or someone they care deeply for is also a must-hear. I really enjoy chatter and sounds.
Smells distract me when I am in mid-thought. I've discovered through the years that there are so many smells out there, and quite frankly, there are many I do not find pleasurable. I've really come to detest strong artificial odors. Things like cologne or perfume can literally bring tears to my eyes if they are used heavily, and I must confess that I don't care much for patchuli(sp?) either. I like mild, clean smells. I like the smell of freshly washed hair. I like the smell of fruit once it's been bitten one time. I love the smell of coffee in the morning. I love the smell of grass after it's been cut. I love the smell of rain. I love the smell of impending rain. I love the smell of something baking in the oven. I love the smell of a freshly cleaned woman right from the tub. I love the distinctive smells of the seasons. I love the smell of the ocean, but not really Lake Erie where I live- I guess oceans smell better than lakes.
Even though I feel I'm only beginning to babble, I am brought back to reality by the telephone ringing. I won't answer it, because I appreciate all of you who read all of this nonsense, and I owe you at least that. However the phone ringing brings me back to the reality of working a 40-hour week, the reality of preparation and of course the reality of laundry. I suppose I could try to charm all of you with my words for days on end, but that just wouldn't be realistic now would it? BUT: Would it not be realistic because I'm not really that charming or because no one has the time to type and/or read for days on end... I'll let you decide.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
freshly washed anything is amazing... hair or skin.
so you like mullets?
oh baby. shorty-longbacks 4 life.