This past Fall, I had a most excellent Durham adventure with the Scrap Exchange- doing Outreach at the newly restored CenterFest.
OFF-CENTER FEST
What
do I mean by restored? Hasn’t CenterFest been running for the past 30 some odd
years?! Well, yes and no. While the Durham Arts Council has been consistently,
and tirelessly been running this quality community celebration of the arts year
after year since the early 80’s (at least that’s how far back I can remember-
no small feat whatsoever!), in moving it to a parking lot behind the YMCA for
the last 10+/- years (and admittedly near the new Central Park), they seem to
have overlooked one very important thing- “Location, Location, Location”.
Which
is actually quite unfair/misleading. Logistically, the move from the
traditional downtown fivepoints location was as shrewd as could be (I discussed
the move extensively with the then Event Planner when they first tried it) and
she explained that holding it in the flat open space requires vastly less
staff, police and volunteers than the maze of downtown Durham). So, I can see
why they gave this a try, and why it made their difficult job much more
manageable. But by a metric far more subtle, yet- as they found out- far more
important, spiritually (by most reckonings) the move was a death knoll. Over
the first few years, most of the local craftspeople who had been faithfully
doing the festival for decades were dropping out like flies, and I know that I
and other friends and family had stopped attending shortly there after.
Why
did these local craftspeople resent being moved from the heart of our beautific
old canyon of a downtown, with its rich patina of grit and glory, its sense of pride
of place, the very essence of Centerfest, to an innocuous square lake of
burning black asphalt? Your guess is as good as mine..
But
I will venture this. When I invest my hard earned money in a small but graceful
object of beauty, I am choosing a momento from that time and place, to remind
me of my experience of it. A pebble from a walk through a National Park if you
will…
So
I ask you, if you pocketed a stone on a trip to a canyon, which would you take
home to put on your mantel- a smooth and earthy river rock, or a gooey black
chunk of asphalt?
Perhaps this is why the ever wry and witty Durhamite Bill
Wilkerson began calling the event Off-CenterFest!
Bull’s Eye!
Well,
much to their credit, the Durham Arts Council has responded to our pleas,
listened carefully, and finally decided to put CenterFest back where it
belongs, in the throbbing heart of downtown Durham. And walking those bustling
streets again, boy oh boy did it feel right…
Arrival and Set Up- Up To The Challenge?
After
spending a looong day doing Outreach for the Scrap Exchange in Raleigh the day
before (at BugFest), I have to admit, I was really psyched to be back on Durham
soil. Bugfest is a really cool-
and very well- organized event, but after all
these years of getting cooler little by little (Bless Their Hearts), being back
in Dear Old DTown reminded me of what a special place it is. I met my outreach pardner for the day, Jesa at the Scrap, where we picked up the van, and headed into the heart of downtown.
A Nice Surprise
Trying
to figure out how to get in through the blockades on Main St., I left the van
at a stop light to inquire a policewoman sitting in her patrol car at the
blockade- and was surpised to discover that she was sitting in there knitting…!
Once I’d got the directions, I had to ask… “whatchya makin’? A little bit
sheepishly, she replied “Well, I was making a hat, but I ran out of that yarn,
so now I am making a scarf”. I don’t know, somehow, it seemed like a really
healthy thing to find a police officer knitting in her patrol car! (and I told
her so, which she seemed to appreciate! Though I missed the opportunity to
invite her to the knitting circles at the Scrap Exchange…) Somehow, this seemed
to bode well for the day…
A Not So Nice Surprise
Once
Jesa and I had wound our way down a crowded Main Streets, lined with crafts
people bustling to set up their booths like a middle eastern Bazaar, we found
our spot, with the tent and tables left (as planned) from the day before.
However, what appearently once was our tent was now in a truly sad state of
affairs- it seemed to have taken a serious beating all night from the strong
wind that was still, at that moment that we found it, driving into it, pounding
it into a pitiful, crumpled, caved in, limping excuse for a was-tent. This
thing needed some serious TLC! And with only about a half of an hour to get it
functional enough to put the public underneath of it, as well arrange as all of
our many barrels and tables of odd bits, not to mention our table of delicate
hand-crafted merchandize, Jesa and I had to think quick on our feet. With a
whole vanload of scrap, who were we, if not impromptu tent
surgeons?!....Indeed, I remembered from the day before’s event that one thing
that the Scrap Exchange is currently abundantly wealthy in is orange nylon
twine. And sure enough, from the back of the van, we excavated a whole brimming
barrelful. And so we went to work…
Pitching a Tent On a Street In a Wind Storm
One
thing about the canyon like nature of downtowns is they are often windy. But
unlike pitching a tent in a real canyon, where you might have some sandy river
soil to tie into, or perhaps a shrub, we were pretty much empty handed as far
as place to tie into on the side the wind was blowing from. And the broken tent
was needing some serious tensile support at the midpoint of that side, to keep
it from caving into itself.
So, we had to create our own cove, a refuge from the raging
wind. And for this, we turned to the hulking resource of our van. Reparking it,
perbendicular to the curb and the wind, we created both a shelter from it, and
a place to tie in/anchor on to. Stretching our orange twine from the weak point
of our tent, to the top of edge of the drivers side door (with the window
cracked), we resurrected our tent, which rose (somewhat like a kite) back to
life, with at least some semblance of stature and a sense of duty to protect
the earthlings beneath its small canopy. HOORAH!
Around
that time, we received some reinforcements from the Scrap Board,
Jodi, who rolled up her sleeves, and helped us in the
important business of securing the tent and setting up for the oncoming crowds.
From
a large banner, we gleaned a long ‘pole’ of trim, which we used to brace
another dilapidated wall (hanging the banner instead on the outside of the
van). And for the 3rd wall, we ran another line from the van door,
around a tree as a leverage point, a back to the wall’s center, plucking it
back into shape. As for the forth and final wall, we didn’t have to push that
wall out, the billowing wind seemed to be doing that job well!
From
these lines we hung the beautiful quilted banners that some kind soul has been
sewing us lately (I am ashamed that I don’t know who), as well as some tshirts
for sale. A bit more tweeking of barrel/table placement for crowd flow, and
BADA! We had ourselves a functional space, worthy of calling home/studio for
the day.
And
in the course of it all, we even managed to help our neighbors, the Nasher
Museum of Art, to bolster themselves against the wind, and look good doing it
too!
CountryBoy Will Survive!
They
were ultra grateful for the help,
and pocket knife and fistful of orange twine in hand, sturdy ‘roof’ now above
our heads, a good Midwesterner cutie Jesa ‘tending the scrap hearth’, I have to
admit, I felt a perticular kind of manly satisfaction, like some kind of Scrap
Family of The Prairie. “Scrap Boy will survive!” as the song goes, or something
like that… It was a good feeling- a feeling of wholeness, of purpose, and
perhaps a renewed/deepened sense of pride in, and understanding of what the
Scrap Exchange represents, or can represent. Survival by resourcefulness, by
improvization. Seems my yearly
Iron Crafter training was paying dividends. Who knows, maybe I even made some
of my own Midwesterner ancestors proud…
As
an aside, and then I’ll shut up about it, back in 2011, when I was in Norfolk,
VA, having to scrap together an intensive exhibition in a foreign land (much
out of the materials that I found there), I conceived of the MacGyver Award For
Resourcefulness (which I wrote about in an early blog post during that time
(LINK). I know that there are many many people whose survival depends on
practicing far far more extreme versions of this petty act of resourcefull tap
dancing each and everyday, but I would like to award our little prairie
homestead crew with a MacGyver Of The Month Award (as Jodi aptly adapted it).
You can award yourself or a deserving somebody else one of these too!
ON WITH THE SHOW
Once
we were set up, people immediately started to trickle in, and make stuff,
shuffling eagerly through the barrels and boxes, and dragging these piles back
to the tables. I improvised a ‘light chime’ which I hung from the edge of the
tent to catch the sun light.
One
family that I especially enjoyed watching was a family from Mexico- a mother
and father, and a teenaged daughter and son.
Working quietly, and quickly, they seemed to be quietly relishing this chance opportunity..(as in fact I have witnessed other central Americans at similar opportunities).
Working quietly, and quickly, they seemed to be quietly relishing this chance opportunity..(as in fact I have witnessed other central Americans at similar opportunities).
What also struck me was that they stuck close together, and
worked together as a team. When they were finished with their pieces, the
father helped their teenaged children to hang their pieces up, continuing the
row, against the sun. This was Contribution as a team.
It
is interesting, I had to reflect. at similar events, I had noticed that Central
Americans particularly cherished /
relished the chance to make public art.
It also struck me that here were teenagers actually hanging
out with their parents!...and working together as a team. This reminded me of
the picture of my own tightknit family of East European / Jewish emigrants.
Here they were, in a foreign land, improvising.
A Home Away From Home or Finding A Scrap Family
As
we were making stuff, I noticed a fellow dressed with in a wild assortment of
African looking garments walk by, toting a hand carved African stool, and a
small box behind him on a small dolly… strange I thought, was he selling the
stools? Why just one? He disappeared into the crowd, and puzzled, I shrugged
and forgot about it.
However,
an hour or two later, an even wilder character emerged from the crowd, this one
bearing similar garb, but also a huge mane of bright neon pink raffia hair,
strewn with freshly picked ground vines..and wild tribal face paint, like Sun
Ra’s pygmy oracle who I soon realized was the same man, in a more heightened
state, it seemed, of himself. However, as we talked, he seemed a little bit
wound up, and maybe I noticed just a tint of hurt in his voice. He informed us
that he had tried to set up an impromtu face painting booth in the street, but
had been shutdown by the organizers, for not having a permit. I could tell he
was feeling a little bit shut out, which, fair or not (I recognized from a
recent solo trip to Europe) always smarts the most when you are out on a limb,
in a foreign land, far far from home.
He
asked us if he could set up in our Scrap Exchange booth, and though I now
regret being so uptight and by the book, I told him it probably wasn’t a good
idea (which it probably wasn’t, for a variety of reasons). However, recognizing
a kindered spirit, we did appreciate his style very much, and told him so. And
when a cheeky little girl who was sitting at the table took notice, and firmly
(beyond her years) informed him that she liked his outfit, he graciously
accepted the compliment, promptly opened up, beamed, came on in, pulled up a
chair and joined the party! (and kicked it up a notch or two!)
At this point, ‘the party’ mainly consisted of the little caucasian gal and her father, and an African American family of 5, who were all busy making their own projects, with a few other hard workers scattered around, working earnestly on the sidewalk as well, and now our new pan-African ‘bushman’ friend who somehow seemed to complete the party.
At this point, ‘the party’ mainly consisted of the little caucasian gal and her father, and an African American family of 5, who were all busy making their own projects, with a few other hard workers scattered around, working earnestly on the sidewalk as well, and now our new pan-African ‘bushman’ friend who somehow seemed to complete the party.
And
so for the latter part of the afternoon, we all hung out, loosely scattered
around the small tent and table making stuff, placid as can be in that certain
special humm that you can hear if you listen closely when a group of people is
focused on making something, but also not minding, even enjoying doing it in
the proximity of others. Happy as clams we were! I don’t know what it was, but
it seemed like some kind of slice of heaven. Looking back- a certain ideal of
sorts…
A Reflection
An
impromptu community, just enjoying the rare chance to be creative, together;
enjoying one another’s company. In such rare instances, Friends, family,
strangers, they all meld into one. Is this the warm tonic of creativity at
work?
If
there are some things missing from our society, our culture these days, I think
we might have found one under that tent that day. And our colorful new African
friend- feeling like a round peg in a square hole, like the rest of us, found a
family of friends for the day.
Scattered
loosely around a table, lost in a casual communion, I guess in some way we were
celebrating our own microcosm of CenterFest.
Pitching
a tent in a windy ‘desert’, creating a space for creating together,
I am reminded once again that this spirit of inclusivity,
added to the spirit of creativity, that is part of what makes the Scrap
Exchange such a special, unique, valuable place. With short sighted eyes, one
(a Republican senator for instance) could easily mistake the Scrap Exchange as
a warehouse full of (s)crap. Which of course it is. But of course, as any one
who has experienced this organization’s ethos and spirit first hand can tell
you, this is the perspective of the blind man, with his hand (or head) up the
elephant’s ass.
Epilogue- What Is Peace?
At
some point in the day, I took a walk around, to see what a restored CenterFest
looked and felt like. And it felt great! It felt both new and fresh, and old
and familiar. All of the people I spoke with shared the same sense that an
important thing had occurred, restoring CenterFest to Center. “10x better” said
a long time CenterFest attending
Japanese-born potter.
While surveying around, I happened to
meet a woman, Bonnie Cohen, set up in front of the Ninth St. Bakery, who put to
me-to everyone- a very open ended question “What Does Peace Mean To You?” What
a wonderful, simple and complex question; I couldn’t help but be touched by the
mere posing of it.
Well,
therein is my new answer for you Bonnie, though I might not have guessed it…
Finding The Resources You Need (both internal and external),
But Maybe Didn’t Know You Had, Pitching A Tent Against The Wind, ReFinding Your
Home (wether in your community, or yourself). Coming in from a cold wind blowing,
to find friends and family in strangers, and share in the warmth of each
other’s and your own creativity. gathering together to enjoy. Finding family in
strangers. The chance to enjoy being alone, in your own mental/creative space,
yet still feel connected- together.
That is what peace is for me.
So,
I did find a special ‘pebble for my pocket’ this CenterFest. With plenty to
lament and worry about our human race these days, this was one soft and smooth,
varied and colorful snapshot of Durham; my Human Family; and a strange new kind
of Peace, for me to hold onto.
