I left the camera home on purpose. A camera forces the eyes to capture the moment. I wanted to open up all the sense gates. I find myself at the "Sand in the City "event in Pioneer Square. I rode MAX down and let Rollie out of the box. Portland reacts badly to the friendly mode. Sometimes I do it just to piss people off but mostly because I like people. Now I assure you that I don't jump in a lap and talk about senseless stuff just to hear myself talk. I keep proper distance and talk with them about meaningful but safe topics. Sadly, society has grown wary, weary, and willfully distance.
I did get some good tips from a well dressed lady about the Nordstrom Rack. She jumped on the packed Max with me for the half yearly sale at Nordstroms.
A string quartet graced the square with music. A teen led the group with a broken arm and did a fine job I might add. While to the side an EMT had her peer tattoo her arm in the shade of the ambulance. Guys out front played chess on roll up boards with timers. They take it seriously.
Do you ever wonder why people do play a guitar in Pioneer Square? publicly? Why play chess outside in front of a Max stop? Can I count it up to sheer exhibitionism? Or is there something else here? Is it a desire to share something with others, to get affirmation, to find feedback, or just to combine activities (what I love with an enjoyable day at a public event)?
It just hit me. Maybe I have the answer. I write publicly much. I get out among the masses to gather grist for the writing mill. Today's writing will show up in a novel someday. I will have a scene in a book involving a public event. The quirks and observations about people adds much color to a novel and the personality of a character actually moves the book along come to think of it. My main character will revisit the scene I saw today. He or she will see the homeless girl, the guy collecting cans, the broken armed conductor, the guys playing chess, and oh yes the sand sculptures. My time outside the sterile environs of a library adds color to my life and thus to my writing. I suppose it applies to the guitar player.
A young lady sits on the ground collecting money from passing patrons. We visit the patron Saint of Coffee Saint Arbucks. She collects money at the temple door. I wrote on Facebook "Downtrodden blond sits outside Starbucks. Her sign reads "A Little kindness would make life a lot more liveable (sic). Givers give her kindness. Hopes it helps sweetheart."
The clerk (what'd you call them again Barista)at Starbucks said he has observed a network among the homeless. A homeless handler shows up once in awhile. He has wads of hundreds. He collects from the gal sitting on the street. They exchange food through the newspaper distribution box in front of the store. He surmises that drugs enter the picture somewhere.
Oh, the sand, I guess my senses took me to other places. The sculpture amazes me. It's that kind of art that asks the question "How do they do that?" I plan on visiting Saturday market on the way out and hope to ask the question many more times today.
I started a novel this last week and so far so good. It's moving along nicely. I can see that like a weekly television show, it eats up material quickly. I will need to spend many days like this to have experiences from which to draw. Oh, the pain of it all.
I write on the back of a coloring sheet of a dancing PGE cow. I forgot my journal. I remembered the Space Pen and computer though. How many people can claim a dancing cow as their muse.
I gotta go meet my brother coming from Salem. Please write and tell me why you think people do creative things in public.
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