I caught myself yesterday, suddenly, thinking that Albuquerque should really be the sister-city of St. Louis -well, retrospectively thinking, maybe the "brother city" or the "husband city" for Albuquerque's distinctive masculine flavor, with its brash heat, strident dry wind, and flora as delicate and colorful as it is guarded and tough to pick. Still, I'm not quite sure what it is, whether it be the tiny downtown with its cluster of high-rise buildings in the distant vista, or the throngs of mediocre vehicles that take to the road at the same time in the late afternoon, the low horizon line, or the cute black guys driving hoopties with pretty wheels. Or maybe it's just that its the the second "B-rated" city I've lived in, and I have unfinished business in such a place.
The experiences of both cities might not be so similar, if my experiences of them had not begun in such similar manners and progressed so closely. I recently arrived from Vail Colorado, where the pervasive elitism of the area could do nothing to keep away individuals with nothing but a desire for gravity snow sports- thus evolving the two dramatically divided populations surviving one on the other. I had moved to St. Louis as a freshman in college, desperate to get away from Connecticut, the state I grew up in, where I never played part in the legacy of its population, and aside from some tutoring in High School, never interacted much with anyone else. But the transitions were incredibly similar. Both times there were good riddens. Both times, multiple hand-packed carloads trecked the lonely highways. Both arrivals yielded a brand new open space by which I would struggle with wide open eyes to grasp all the communicative sublties and inevitably miss some, at least in the earlier transition. Both arrivals began with tunnel vision, but expanded into supported curiosity and adventures, career development, and great friends. Both have revealed groups of uniquely independent underground artists and their vitrified efforts of creating communities and a critical mass of fans, contributors, and gravity. This is what I love about cities like these.
After college, my apartment in St. Louis was a loft located on Washington Avenue, which like Central in Albuquerque, looks upon the least palatable and most dangerous area in the city proper. The building was section 8 housing, a symptom of St. Louis's attempt to revitalize its downtown. Despite its apparent danger, I never experienced any more than distant glances from questionable characters, even when walking through the neighborhood to various art classes to teach, or riding the metrolink, where it was most likely to hit. Instead, I found interested teams of cohesive effort, like I have in Albuquerque.
My time in St. Louis was pegged with obstacles, the battle against cancer being only the last of these, ending in a flight-for-my-life mood to Colorado and some cleaner air. Behind me, I left a growing art scene, many talented, wonderful friends, and some less good-for-me things. Thinking about this sometimes makes me nostalgic for these days, when I knew everyone, and there was nothing I couldn't do for not being connected. It seems like I was always having fun and never getting caught. It was during this time my spiritual side came out from behind the curtain, as weak and underdeveloped as it was, and began communicating with me by means to various ends. The first thing I was moved to do was to grow my hair into dreds, because for some reason I thought I might never have the chance again. Well I was right - Chemo came along and wiped them out, ending my practicing hippie days. I knew that going certain places and hanging out with certain people would be good for me or lead to good things. Some of that truncated around the time things began to end there, but that which didn't end is still growing, and I'm still connected to it, but only enough to wish myself to go back to it.
Strangely though, I wonder if I have come back to it. I've wet my feet in the art scene and discovered a highly populated, high energy art scene here, with some clashing but mostly consonant efforts to create more opportunity, more growth, just more. More artists always welcome, more sales always had, more people looking for more opportunities.
Ironically, artists seem to flourish during an unpredictable economy - their state of the union is always undependable fluctuation, and if it isn't its because the artist has grown through such. Artists have a sense of comfort and stoic in a bad economy. Finally, everyone understands what its like to be an artist, and if they don't, they are not passionate about what they do.
Here in this bad economy on the fringe of a richly talented and growing population of artists, I'm starting to see St. Louis's missed opportunities return to possibility. The bubble of the Colorado mountains was effective in keeping me out of trouble and restoring my health. I've also learned from the aforementioned bad-for-me things, and can return to the good things here, and choose my path not to intersect with mental, emotional, or physical pollution. This time, I'm dead set on success. I require it. I also require fun, education, growth, and love. Only good things can come from this, and now picking up where I left off in a filtered St. Louis is imminent, and I am ready.
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Am I finally going to get to know you, and you yourself, through all this writing? Amazing what you can't say out loud, can be spoken on these pages it seems...
Let's read and write on...
OK, you hooked me, I'm looking forward to reading the continuation of this post.
Let's read and write on...