My neighbors think I'm crazy. I'm not, I just like dancing on rooftops.
In the morning I get the kids off to school, making sure everything is in their backpacks. My husband goes to the office. I drink my second cup of coffee in silence. I then clean a room for that day. Each room is assigned a certain day, it doesn't vary. After the room is cleaned top to bottom, I take a short nap.
When the alarm sounds, I take my outdated CD player and an assortment of CDs to the roof. I plug the player into the building's electricity, turn up the volume, and move. I'll dance to anything. Nothing is planned in advance. I listen, feel, and react.
When my neighbors scream to knock it off, I know it's time to go back to my apartment. I'm back in time to prepare the after school snacks and to start dinner. I welcome my family back to a clean, happy home.
In the morning I get the kids off to school, making sure everything is in their backpacks. My husband goes to the office. I drink my second cup of coffee in silence. I then clean a room for that day. Each room is assigned a certain day, it doesn't vary. After the room is cleaned top to bottom, I take a short nap.
When the alarm sounds, I take my outdated CD player and an assortment of CDs to the roof. I plug the player into the building's electricity, turn up the volume, and move. I'll dance to anything. Nothing is planned in advance. I listen, feel, and react.
When my neighbors scream to knock it off, I know it's time to go back to my apartment. I'm back in time to prepare the after school snacks and to start dinner. I welcome my family back to a clean, happy home.
3 comments:
My neighbors think I'm crazy. I'm not, I just like dancing on rooftops.
In the morning I get the kids off to school, making sure everything is in their backpacks. My husband goes to the office. I drink my second cup of coffee in silence. I then clean a room for that day. Each room is assigned a certain day, it doesn't vary. After the room is cleaned top to bottom, I take a short nap.
When the alarm sounds, I take my outdated CD player and an assortment of CDs to the roof. I plug the player into the building's electricity, turn up the volume, and move. I'll dance to anything. Nothing is planned in advance. I listen, feel, and react.
When my neighbors scream to knock it off, I know it's time to go back to my apartment. I'm back in time to prepare the after school snacks and to start dinner. I welcome my family back to a clean, happy home.
I didn't realize my tetanus booster had expired. They only last ten years, and I hadn't had one since my freshman year of college.
My mom says it's typical, that I don't take care of myself, that normal people wear shoes outside and visit their doctors once a year. Mom says normal people don't end up in this situation.
Thirty-three years old and hospitalized with gangrene. Dance on one dirty roof and you could lose your whole leg.
My hypercritical eye makes me unusually picky. Four years of art school provided me an insider's perspective of the tricks of the trade. As it is, pictures like these dotted the final projects of many of my classmates. Having taken the same composition classes as they and having some degree of command of similar tactics, I find myself not as impressed by the effect as the casual observer.
Over the years of being an art critic, I have come to favor raw creativity over refined finesse. The person who doesn't know any better than to stick to stylized rules and the trendy motif of the moment is far more interesting.
In saying this, part of me is glad that people are bothering to create in the first place and that there is a venue for it in this overgrown cow-town. My job sends me into a million small towns just like this in search of the rose in the garden of weeds and though I come into the process with low expectations, I find myself occasionally impressed by some new up-and-coming artist. Cities who wear their artistic leanings on their sleeves and printed up in glossy brochures I find often an exercise in hipper-then-thou and the egocentric attitude that comes attached.
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