The Fusion Museum is a small space.
We get there on time as does 'Nessa. We meet right in front of the museum and gather our wits about us and then enter into a literal wonderland of art. Art on the walls, art on pedestals, art everywhere. There were figures that were ten feet high, near the ceiling even.We file into the crowded main room and find Doran Pollack, curator of the museum and artiste. It has been a long time since we've seen our close friend, so hugs went around. So did the introductions. Many people. Wives, friends, co-artists, artists, fans, patrons. They were all there.
We went downstairs to the lower gallery with amazing art on the walls and it was by far less crowded than the main gallery. We hung up our coats and began to mingle. Soon, the band arrived and I noticed the bass player strike the strings of his guitar with such flourish. And that's how I introduced myself to TM. TM is tall, George Clinton-like guy with dreadlocks. He and his wife introduce themselves and they go upstairs to perform with the rest of their band. We retire upstairs also, the poetry is supposed to come after the band.
TM and company go to town, beating out some fine music, TM's wife is the lead singer. I stood, both listening and bolted to the floor. Every muscle in my body was screaming over the music. I wanted race from the building, dashing through the streets without a coat to run up to 98th street. I was in a state of panic. Sheer panic. And when the band had finished, which was way too short for me, OBSIDIAN jumped into the fray, playing Master of Ceremonies with his instinctive skill.
'Nessa went first, and quieted the audience with her skill, pulling them into her perfor- mance art, her spoken word which received a rousing round of applause. Hard to follow that. Then my brother invited me to the center of the gallery. I walked straight into the mouth of doom, and concentrated on my papers before me. I focused and delivered the best reading that I could. I really shook the fear once I shut out the crowd around me and focused fully on the pages in my hand. I read one, and then another and then I was done. The applause was the salve to my frayed nerves. I made it from the front of the gallery and melted into the crowd, listening as my brother gave his reading, captivating the audience.
I found a beer in a tub of ice and settled my nerves. I was wound tremen- dously tight, and the exhaustion was palatable. People came up to me while I decompressed, telling me that I gave a nice reading. They loved my poetry. I was amazed to say the least. Love is a pretty strong word. I would much rather feel comfortable with 'liked', but loved was different. I shook hands that I never shook before, met people that I didn't meet when I first walked in. It was almost strange.
The night went on like this until it was time to leave. 'Nessa took off, my brother and I lingered just a little bit longer with Doran, to wish him well, he posed before his work to allow me to take a picture of him before I left.
We walked back to the Way. The wind was cold as a bitch. Winter had finally clenched its fist around the city. OBSIDIAN rode the Way up with me and we said our goodnights at 96th street station. From there I returned to my room.
I was glad to be home.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/12/big-art.html
Visit i dont want tobe anything other than me for Daily Updated Hairstyles Collection
No comments:
Post a Comment