A brown-skinned artist dressed in dusty and muted colors and wearing a copper bracelet stood at the edge of the promenade near the beach facing west. His tripod easel sat atop a low cement wall that separates the walkway from the beach, and on his easel, a thin block of wood the size of a postcard. He was painting the bridge, water, mountains, and sky. I was sitting on a bench across the promenade from him. When I first noticed him, he was working on a different painting and talking with a woman. She had asked him to paint the bridge for her. Based on the hug he gave her and the light sobs she stifled, I’m guessing the view of the bridge or the location was meaningful or sentimental.
Next to the painter, he had a two-foot tall speaker. He was playing the type of instrumental music one might hear while meditating – soft, slow, purposeful, and ethereal. Next to the speaker he had draped what looked like an intricately woven lightweight throw towel over some sort of metal stand. Resting in the shade of the makeshift towel tent, his very chill dog.
I read, I wrote, I watched him a bit, read some more, watched some more. So many people stopped or pointed or browsed the other paintings he had placed along the cement wall. Lots of people smiled, some took pictures. As cool as it was to watch him work, it was even cooler to see the reactions of the people passing by – dozens of them. This simple act of creating art in a public space was spreading joy to everyone around.
As I got up to leave, I walked over and looked at the paintings. Most of them were geographically ambiguous paintings of the sky, sun, and clouds. I bought one and told him that I had been sitting on the bench across the way. I told him that almost everyone who passed showed this mix of joy, wonder, and curiosity. I thanked him for being a bright spot in so many people’s day. We talked a bit – he lives in the central valley, travels around, and paints. He paused the conversation and pointed up. Thin clouds covered the sun like a veil which created this massive halo. He took a picture. It’ll be a painting for later. I thanked him again, walked a bit, took my own picture of the haloed sun.
After the beach, I came home, dropped my books off and headed out again. The are two art fairs in my neighborhood going on this weekend. I have tickets to both. The one I went to today, is a kind of fancy one. Lot’s of big pieces, most of which cost thousands of dollars. I know I saw one priced at $30k and quite a few in the teens and twenties.
While I can’t afford those prices, I like going to these things because you see so many different styles and come across some pretty cool concepts. I wish I were that imaginative. I’m not sure I have a particularly good eye for art, and I struggle to articulate why I like some things and not others. I know I’m drawn to color – especially subtle shifts in color. I know I’m drawn to blurred demarcations like what one might see in watercolors. Aside from that, my taste and attention are all over the place. From today’s show, I liked this one style that used colorful uniform blobs of paint (they rose above the canvas) on a white canvas with flat shadows next to the blobs. The effect was to simulate a bird’s eye view of dozens of people walking or dancing. There was a mesmerizing sense of movement in the pieces.
Another style I likes was a mixed media style that involved a broken blue plate in which the shattered area becomes a painting of what was on the plate. Again, there’s a sense of movement – in this case a velocity as if the painting is exploding free from the plate.
While there were plenty of interesting pieces of art to photograph, the space – a large pavilion with over 50 gallery spaces set up – was crowded, and I hate being in people’s way. The one other photo I took was of two oil paintings of houses lit by outside lights – one house lit yellow, the other lit blue. I think I like realism and abstract art fairly equally, but I know that I like when paintings manage to capture light and lighting.
Inevitably, when I attend an event like this, I’m in awe of the creative effort and spirit. It warms my soul to know so many people are out in the world creating art. I’m blown away by the dedication, the imagination, and in some cases the exquisite attention to detail. There was one drawing/painting that used the thinnest of blue lines over and over again so that when you stood back, you thought you were looking at a large print photo of shallow and clear ocean or Caribbean water. Inevitably, when I attend an event like this, I leave a little over-stimulated and little critical of the fact that I never dedicated myself so entirely to something. I begin to wonder how do these people see the world in such a different and creative way. It’s genuinely impressive.
I have another art fair tomorrow (Sunday). It’s called upstart art fair. A nearby hotel clears out for the weekend and each room is converted into a small gallery. I expect to be in awe again – which ain’t a bad way to spend a weekend.