PaintPosted by Angelo Melendez on June 7th, 2008
Last night I played a gig with Rick Spreitzer and Kevin Edwards at the Green Rice Gallery in NoDa… very enjoyable. I mean, people flowing through all evening, looking at the various artwork hung on walls and placed on stands, sipping wine and beverages, munching on treats — lots of smiles and conversation. All this going on as the three of us sat in a corner and jammed acoustically (me on electric bass) to Rick’s original indie music, sort of an art on art foundation.
Rick mentioned at one point, “starving artists don’t just paint”, which I thought was a great off-the-cuff line, unfortunately, I’m not sure anyone heard it through the buzz of chatter. We were not turned up very loud and had a sort of muffled edge, so during a 10 minute break, we tweaked the sound then took off for a 2nd set. As the night progressed I felt as if we were less the foundation and more an art piece in the corner. Some folks commented as they’d wrap around the walls viewing art, buy a CD, or stand and listen longer than most before moving on. The flow of ever-changing faces was really fun to watch.
All in all, the night, which I actually wasn’t even looking forward to because I’d had such a busy and at times oppressive week, ended up being a wonderfully relaxing and inspiring time. As we packed up, the buzz between Rick, Kevin, and I continued. When the owner paid Rick, she said she hopes to have us back. We roadie’d the gear into a night totally lit with sound and energy from all the people on the streets and both the indoor and outdoor bands at the Muse and beyond. I’ve been hanging out in NoDa, albeit infrequently, for a few years and have observed it become what I saw last night… good for all. Business owners must love it, the folks that hang must love it, and other than the fools that choose to rely on crime to feed their vices, it’s really a pretty eclectic, peaceful scenario.
Funny that out of all that is enjoyable, reality comes back and paints our next hours, days, and chapters. I got home more tired than I thought I was… barely lasted an hour before my eyes were shut, battled the fact I needed to sleep about 30 more minutes, then just went to bed. Overslept, wasted half the morning, now I’m writing this entry… be right back, I need some more coffee… OK, I’m back. So, today will be “busy” with whatever I need to get done, would like to do, and maybe a little day dreaming. But reality will “paint” my thoughts and actions, and influence my hopes and dreams.
I heard on the news last night (in between dozes) that Al Sharpton is coming back to Charlotte to tongue lash our law enforcement agencies for shooting a young black man that was waving a gun at police. It would be nice if he’d come and stick his nose in the crack houses and gang dens and try to make some sense of that mess, too. Maybe take a ride through some once thriving neighborhoods now littered with for sale signs, which are perpetual lawn ornaments. Who wants to buy a house in a neighborhood that’s either gang controlled or where owners don’t care enough to mow their grass, much less maintain their houses — black, white, Hispanic… whatever! Hey, Al, why don’t you get in a Charlotte cop car on a Friday night and experience what they see and deal with on a daily basis?
And I’m so perplexed by the “Got Hope” t-shirts for B’Obama… give me a break! The Dem’s have had control of the house for almost two years now… nothing. Gas prices up what, $1.25? States in the great northwest are poised to deliver alternative energy, but for the red tape… where are the Dem’s? We’re still spending BILLIONS on space programs — who cares the dust on Mars is red — where are the Dem’s?
Our country’s livelihood is at stake, most just complain about it, hope is at a premium. If the only hope we have is to vote in a new president, that’s not a hope with much (if any) substance. My hope is in that which I can’t fathom or see, the hope promised by the word of God, which is in and of itself God, at least to me. My hope is based on promises so misconstrued and twisted by man, mis-labeled as “religion”, that I can understand why it seems so few choose to travel this narrow path. This hope paints a picture of peace for eternity, and in my heart. But along with this hope come the promises of life… struggles, fears, pain, and despair.
It’s up to me which brush I choose — the broad or the pencil thin tip — and what colors I paint, black and white, shades of grey, or a broad palette of lush colors I create from the basic set. We are all painters, artists in this life, it’s how we express and portray our hope that makes us who we are, to ourselves and those with whom we share our lives. It’s up to me to determine if hanging on to what I know is worth the possibility of missing out on adventures I’ve yet to imagine.