A New Twist for a Summer Drink

I like a good twist.  A good twist in a story, a good twist of lime, a good twist from the chiropractor, a good twist on the dance floor, and most recently, Samson's good twist that took out his front tooth, giving him that adorable *lithsp* we all had when we lost our front teeth.

I guess this bus idea and the bus itself has gone through (is going through) a twist in its life. . .from a proposed documentary film and taking my kids on the road, to sitting in North Carolina for a year in a half and being home to at least three people up there (!) to becoming the proposed newest twist in the arts world (though not the first -Stunning bus gallery in the UK, an art bus that reaches children, a pretty interesting idea to bring art to the people, for free, and St Louis gave this project $50,000. . .).

A MOBILE ART GALLERY!
that supports community, sharing, creativity, social justice, human rights, and yes. . .art. . .

So. . .this is all in conjunction with the art gallery I've been managing in New Jersey since last year.  I had originally asked the owner, who has a large enough space on his property, if I could park my bus there.  I had all but given up on The Parting Family - knowing now I'm almost done with graduate school to be a teacher, and well, I need to use that degree to pay back my loans! Yikes!  So, no traipsing around the world of intentional communities and monasteries and national parks. . .yet. . .

So. . .the owner says 'sure' to parking the bus there.  I only knew if I didn't move it the 700 miles up here, it was just going to die, and with it, my dreams and ideals and visions of whatever I've written and spoken of in the last 4 or 5 or 6 years.  It was in bad shape (visually).  I'm not sure where the idea came from, but I believe it must have begun back in 1999 when I first moved to Philadelphia from a small Southern town, and thought I could just walk my portfolio into any old gallery and have them swooning.  An acquaintance of mine, had been dealing with the same crap of cliques and select, tony, and mostly pretentious curators, artists, and art wizards closing doors in his face and generally making art into a popularity contest in which was reminscient of our presidential elections.  It made no sense.  I imagined a less 'cool' arts scene, or day-dreamed a room full of highly talented artists sharing cocktails, but all of them uber-introverted and ugly and dorky.  Some of them may not even know the newest classifications of the genres of the newest music, or know what a fixie is, or eat the same bologna and mustard sandwich everyday for the last 23 years.  I dunno. . .

So why not have a renegade art gallery, on wheels?  Level the playing grounds.  Why not an impetuous and genuine opening on the street, where perhaps everyone will have a chance. . .well, everyone without bumptiousness and conceit. . .those who want to support what I envision as pretty important electrons around an equally important nucleus (can't think of anything for the nucleus to represent right now). . .and we, the people, are exchanging electrons, making energy and explosions and stuff - in a good way.

Don't take me for a negative thinker - I love art galleries, and I may have it all wrong.  But, you can't deny a 36' school bus rolling into a gallery district in Philly, NY, Baltimore, or DC isn't pretty interesting. . .

So right now, I'm working on a Kickstarted video to raise funds to complete the process, contacting potential sponsors - like the good folks and AS Hanging Systems that I contacted this morning about helping us out with a cable system to hang the work, and putting out the word for a collection of artists to be involved.  I am also beginning to compile causes and projects in which I would like to sponsor from exhibit and sales proceeds. . .

Here's the transitioning interior.  I'll be painting the walls a nice, calm grey, finish the curtains, and work on finding a good electrician to complete the circuits to the marine batteries I have.

Let the twisting commence!!

The Great North

I think The Great North refers to places other than South Jersey, but the bus has never been north of the Mason Dixon line, so for Sirius, we'll keep it as such.  We just arrived home about 30 minutes ago.  Scratch that - we arrived about 6 hours ago - I just re-christened the bus with my friend Tom and a very early Mother's Day present - some good conversation and a couple tasteful beers. . .and a lesson on the gifts youtube has to give - Tom introduced me to Phillip DiFranco (I am guessing at spelling).  I'm sold.

So!  The bus is parked in what turns out to be a perfectly allowed space on our street, to be moved tomorrow once our things are sorted out.  We stopped in Elizabethton to gather the remainder of our worldly belongings from storage. . .things such as toys and books and clothes all outgrown by the kids that haven't been seen in close to 2 years.  But they traveled all the way up here - 700 miles actually - to be given to Goodwill in Jersey.  That's cool.  These Yankess could use some Southern flair.

It's almost dawn, the bus sits happy, tagged with red spray paint (a nice touch to accent its peeling paint and mildewed roof), awaiting the reactions of neighbors close, and probably town-wide.  Good.  Maybe you're a neighbor reading this because the blog address is painted on the driver's side.  Maybe you're my best friend (I hope).  Either way, please come back and read more about what is happening tomorrow, when I'm more lucid. . .

Thank you I-81, thank you highway 66, thank you 495, 895, 295, and I-95.  Thank you Delaware memorial bridge.  Thank you weather.  Thank you for facilitating an awesome move.  I hope by September the mobile art gallery is in place and Sirius will be treading lightly all the way to your neighborhood, with something BIG to offer.

Highway in the Wind

One thing that has kept me from becoming, or even attempting to become, a successful artist is the discrepancy between meaning and meaningless.  Sometimes it's a difficult line to see.  Art can, by the cynic, be seen as petty.  But then take Banksy's political and social commentaries, so in depth and thought-provoking.  Take that artist in O'Henry's The Last Leaf, a story (you should read) in which a painting literally gives enough meaning to a woman that she chooses Life.  Look at any artwork, and by artwork, I mean anything, because the definition of art basically encompasses everything. . .

So, thank God for Arlo Guthrie, as I've been obsessed with him lately.  Thank God for these songs and voices, sounds, colors, shapes, and actions that can inspire us to get up and go.  Thank God for writing that has nothing to do with anything sometimes other than looking at our own lives and deciding that if that person there can write a short story (thanks Vonnegut), that by God, I should be doing something.

And so we leave today, my ex-mother-in-law and my three children, to drive all afternoon and night to the Bus, in Marshall, North Carolina.  We drive with new leaves on the trees, through DC and its cherry blossoms, through country that Pete Seeger sang to and of, past mountains that have been topped and across borders, down to the town where Amanda Barry's father lives, over and in and through Appalachia. . .

The bus is something more than steel and oak (!) and wishes.  It's a movement both literally and figuratively.  I will be driving it up with kids bouncing in the bunks and playing cards on the floors, back the poetic way we will ramble down.  Through the thunderstorms they are forecasting, through all sorts of wonderful surprises.  It will be parked somewhere in New Jersey, a location not yet disclosed to even me, arriving on Mother's Day, a significant day for me. . .and my mother. . .and against all odds, it will prevail as something good, meaningful, pertinent, positive. . .like the art I struggle with to find meaning in often.

The worst news to come of the bus, after I traveled down 3 weeks ago to clean it out and move it to a garage to prepare for the 600 mile trek, was that the veggie conversion done in 2011 is, in diesel mechanic Tim McGee's valued opinion, is "all gummed up."  This translates to it is the worst attempt at a conversion he's seen in his thirty years working on diesels, buses to be specific.  We're talking next door to Asheville, North Carolina - a convergence point for every type of progressive person, group, movement, and order in the nation - a place where those in San Francisco and Portland, Oregon go when they need something more progressive. . .so Tim has seen his fair share of converted buses.  In his opinion, he could not let me drive at all with a clean conscious with the fuel system intact. . .not only was it installed terribly in-efficiently, but it was dangerous!!  Wow, so, being the woman I am, with karma in tow, I have let any feelings of resentment or anger pass me by and have chosen to view this set-back as a learning opportunity.  Not doubt or mistrust in people, but a chance for me to perhaps learn to speak with many different people, to take my time with big endeavors, and to. . .well, to enjoy some Alice's Restaurant when it all falls to pieces. . .