#25-LEAN, MEAN, AND IN THE NAME OF ART

Life. It can overwhelm you. One minute, you do what you do. Float along. You're one of the good ones. The next minute everything takes a 180. Confusion. Disillusionment. You immediately regret a flip choice and want to go back ten steps. But you can't. What's done is done. You move on as a person who did whatever that was. The world sees you differently, but still have the same old face.

The only thing that gives us relief is knowing that everyone experiences this at some point. Maybe today we're not the worst person ever. Just a person. That sounds even worse.

Artists feel this sort of every day thing like a hot flame. It's intense and stands out sometimes even more than good memories. They write about the torturous moments not to expose themselves, to find others like them. Even if we're both a couple of jerks at least we have each other. All better.

I was at the mic the other night. Captivated. They sucked me in immediately... or made me want to run for the hills. The eyes of the channeling artists who are slaves to expression. When they enter a stage, the door to their heart flies open and they begin. Usually there's a plan. A plan to do one thing. Something rehearsed. At least once or twice. They intend to lay it before their captive patrons in the hopes for immediate feedback. Whatever it may be. One by one the show went on and I was once again running along like a happy puppy.

Then he entered. The one who was going to experience one of those 180s in front of a packed audience. No privacy. He looked up and then suddenly...this artist was overcome. Caught in the hot light and the focused gaze of the confused audience members. All of us trapped in one of those moments. Painful moments. He uttered a realization of a regretted life choice. In that moment all of it caught up to him without his yeah or nay, and his art froze. Crash!

He stood at the mic and said nothing. He closed his eyes and put his head down. My stomach got tight and the silence in the room made me think for one minute that something special and good was happening. I just didn't get it. Like an epiphany. But no. This was a crash collision in real life.

When life creeps up on the normal people they just go home and drink alcohol and order Indian food. We artists finish very hard day jobs and then go to open mics and hook our front teeth into cold brick. It's what we must do.

This kind of openness is what brings me back over and over again. It's a reminder. A warning. Life can turn. In a minute. You're the pilot. Keep your hands on the wheel.