At one point, as the drum corps rolled into the Works while I watched the people in white slowly (slowly) make their butoh was across the courtyard, I thought- Why can’t every day of my life be like this? The answer is because it is Time Based Art and in ten days it will be gone, leaving behind a white-hot ember of inspiration.

photo: Serena Davidson
There is something about the first day that is simply perfect. For instance, at the visual art criticism workshop, Isaac Peterson reminds us that art is the act of one human being communicating to another human being. The important part is to be able to make that personal human connection and work deeper into the piece as you see fit. He tells us repeatedly that our own perspective is the most important. Not something you often hear in reference to art criticism. Perfect.
Then, suddenly among hundreds of people in my living room, John King leads a large group of electric guitarists through the shifting “Aurora.” There are moments of dissonance, moments of harmony, moments when harmonics ping through the ensemble like a piano being plucked, driving moments when the audience nods it’s head to a hard rhythm that comes from nowhere. Later, Randy Bemrose- one of the guitarists and a member of Junkface- tells me that the composition sounded the way it did because the guitarists were given several options in the score to play when and where they liked. Sonic alchemy. Perfect.
And I’ve never seen the bridge like this- Hundreds of people lined along it, looking south. Waiting. Soon it’s there, like a tremendous water skipper, David Eckard riding atop the thing.
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photo: Serena Davidson
“I carve a notch into my wooden leg for every sailor who broke my heart.” he says from his gilded megaphones.

photo: Serena Davidson
Somehow the rumor has spread that he was planning on lighting himself on fire. He doesn’t. But after the disappointment that nothing was aflame and seeing onlookers silhouetted against the river in the evening light- the bizarre “Float” passing by- there was a sense of perfection.

photo: Serena Davidson
Then as I soak in the madness and beauty of our community, I wonder- Why can’t every day be as perfect as this?
Posted by P.A. Coleman
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