I walk in the air, between the rain, through myself and back again. Where? I don't know.

Less than an hour in the art building cured my writer's block. Half-faded cartoons smile from the whiteboard, half-finished paintings haunt the halls, dust sits on everything like it's mocking the creative minds who will never even know it's there, and through it all wander the students, who are only half-here. Sometimes you have to touch them to get their attention. Erik's (the teacher's) music weaves a soft spell; it's dark gothic, haunting, but there's a sweetness to it, and on the whole it sounds a lot like the mind of a creator who is perusing his/her creation.

Erik has an art show (thing) coming up in a matter of days. He's almost ready, and the work is stunning.
The deep red painting of the broken man weeping on his throne is one of his. I had no idea. Jay Golick bought it from him. (Oh, if only I had money to burn! Art, books, and musical instruments... and of course, technology.

If you sit in the main room of the art building (upstairs) and look out the windows, you catch only the top of the viticulture building and the hills behind it. You could be anywhere with a view like that. The building looks ancient and yet brand-new, which always suggestsa far-off planet. The hills here in town have enough trees to remain mostly green even when the sun hass scorched the grass. There's only one building up on the hill. For now. But it's enough.
Each summer we lost a bit more of the hills, and someday we won't even notice that they're completely gone.

posted by Emma @ Tuesday, July 22, 2003