I never wanted to destroy.
The artist's personal quest is that of creation. If something gets destroyed in the process it's all in the name of creation. Artists have the idea, or even the urge to create. The drive from inside coming from a place that no one really understands. It all feels the same but comes out differently, like most babies are born looking different so is the end product of art. We create words, paintings, songs, sculptures, or even plays. Art isn't meant to be destructive.
Like I said, I never MEANT to destroy anything.
It was a quiet afternoon, there was a soft cold breeze and the sun was shining. Anyone in the game knows it's perfect weather for a little urban redecoration. I felt the bug, the urge to go out and create. I didn't know what yet, though. I needed something. I needed someone, actually. There was only one person who helped, someone who could focus the urge into workable ideas. She was like a magnifying glass to my ray of sunshine. I grabbed my phone and searched through my contact list.
"Memphis"
I hit the send button and waited for her to pick. Kerry, was her real name, but she called herself Memphis because she was from Memphis. That's just the kinda chick she was. I think she liked it because it was just the right kinda gangsta, and southern sassy which fit her perfectly. She was that fun, in-your-face kinda girl who told it like it was and never looked back.
After 4 rings I'd almost given up, but then a sweet sort of raspy voice asnwered,"What up man-hoe?" Like I said, just the right side of gangsta. I explained to her I wanted to go out and I had ideas. She understood immediately. Memphis was useful like that. She would always be great for taking your ideas and working out the logistics. She knew where we should go, and what we should do there.
"There's this place I've been wanting to check out," she said. She was sounding excited. "It's just west of campus and a little inside Whitey."
Whitey was what we called Whitely. The really dead part of town where all the jobs used to be. It was also, historically an ironic name since it was predominately the black part of town.
"We should go after my photo-J class though. I got a big quiz cuz the Foz is raggin-on and I don't need another C." She was cute about how she worded things, but that was Memphis.
Around six I got a call saying she was headed my way and to get ready. I started getting excited now. I changed into my gear, all black, big pockets. I packed some cans in my bag. There was an art to getting ready. I always felt like I was one of those spies in the movies when they are getting their guns together. It was that beginning of the adrenaline build up. I hopped on my cheap-ass target bike and headed for the rendezvous point.
Memphis was at the corner of College and Riverbend. She had her big camera bag strapped to the back of her old-fashioned bicycle. She was dressed in a strange mix of brightly colored hoody and watch-cap along with her black leggings. She had her huge stereo headphones and was jamming to the latest from Luda. I caught her eye and she started yelling the lyrics...
"Move BITCH! Get out da waaaaay!"
I laughed hard enough so that she felt satisfied and we began the couple mile ride to the east side of Whitey. It's weird that once you leave campus, the bright red brick changes immediately to drab industrial gray. You cross the river and BAM you are hit with the most depressing mix of urban decay and dying buildings. The people matched the buildings. They just look broken. This was all contrasted by the by the perky multicolored Memphis who was still jammin' to her tunes. We pulled off and went behind a dead steal mill. The fence was split open just enough for us to fit through. I followed her down the alley between the rusted gray building that used to be the industry of the city. There was another break in the fence and we slipped through into a junk yard. There were hundreds of crunched and busted cars, twisted and rusted hunks of steel that used to be Ford F-150's. We circles around back and then we were there!
In front of us was a giant white school bus. There were faded black block letters on the side that used to read,"Indiana Department of Corrections." I stood amazed, as Memphis beamed like a spot light. She knew there was never going to be a bigger better canvas out of sight like this one. I set to work, not even thinking. All the while she was snapping photo after photo. After a few hours we were done. The day was over.
See, I never meant to destroy anything, but I did. I destroyed the depressing, rusted, dirty side of a dead bus. I made it awesome. Anyone who saw it stopped and appreciated the fact that it was more than an eye-sore. It was art. Memphis summed it up best.
"It was busted and rusted, and you, you entrusted
the heart and the soul, with your art, you gave it all."
(written August 15, 2011)
(written August 15, 2011)
