often i think it's mighty inconvenient that one cannot bank time. it's one thing one cant save or reserve, so whenever we have a little bit of idle time, things get super interesting. each of us use this fragments of time differently and i think how you use time or how you even get to this pieces of unplanned 'ends' of time says much about you as a person. some people i know are super efficient in allocating their time for the entire day, week, month and year.. who knows really. some, like me, are not so good with time management. for me, it all gets too relative, esp. when there's something interesting or shocking, amusing or plain real boring. then the time really start to tick backward. i swear.
one of the girls who used to work at banff center building had her last day yesterday. she's a typical work-exchange kid, from australia. but here's something that sets her apart. unlike most of us who were in our early 20s and were too cool to acknowledge simple things like kindness and smile, every single time i ran into her, she smiles, say hi and actually waits to hear what you may say. rare. something about this kid is 'untouched' (im borrowing this expression) and i dig that. esp. when i am situated in such an artificial environment, funny enough, in a place called artist colony (sounds like a bad invasive insects colony that eats trees or something).
for a bit of detour, i really believe there would be at least one other term than 'artist' to describe the residency program. it's too pretentious, high-brow, frou-frou, self-proclaimed, maddeningly funny (i mean, when do you get the license to call yourself an artist anyways. there's a big difference between people who call themselves artists and those who are called artists and lastly, the ones who are called to be artist. i mean what happens when it's 2010? you have to apply for a new sticker? i expired in creativity and expressiveness! godforbid! bollocks! blimey! but.. no worries, here's a sticker that garantee my 'artistic' self for now. for 2009.. ha ha. bah. gawd.) anyways, that topic's got nuff meat to refer to another day.
i just wanted to make a small observation that artists, so inspired and lost in their artistic vision, sometimes forgets to pay attention to reality of the present, or acknowledge life as it unfolds in their very eyes. hey i know i do. more often than i would want to. like another fellow human being who happens to be at your proximity, doesnt matter whether one wears the shirt with banff center employee logo or the banff 2009 artist sticker (which, once again, is ridiculous), but may be their artistic thoughts are so great that they may not be with us at the mere mortals. i hope that's the case. at least the possibilities for explanation of such travesty are amusing.
me, i got it very simple. i am a monkey you see, monkey see, monkey doo. monkey's been lucky for awhile now, having to meet continuous chains of persons who demonstrates some core qualities of life that monkey wants. and one of the common theme is be human and let others be human. give room to express and reciprocate. so that's what i try do with others. and having nice civilized people helps immensely when it's time to play nice. not pretending nice, but to actually take the time and 'play' with another person.
i totally forget somethings though, like sublimation, there would be no trace of whatevers it is that i heard. it happens more often than i would like, unfortunately. so when the kiddo told me sometime last wk about getting to the next thing in life, i totally heard it, recognized what she's saying, chatted about it, then forgot it. shame on me. she meant to speak about the last road trip in canada, then heading back to aussie land. and i freaking forgot!
and it happened to be one of those days where i pass out on the floor. usually with music blaring. with my blankets. on top of these carpets on my studio, always the same spot. so someone knocks on the door, i yelled 'come(grottal c that sound more like kh)-on-in' and continue to stay horizontal. so door opens, the kid walks in.
she came back, just say good bye and thanks. a bomb.
thanks for what? did i do something? i forgot something else?
fortunately, this time, the reception of the other party was a positive one. for making her feel part of the music/sound i guess. like a complete human being, not just someone who vacuumes and pick up after everyone.
i never thought i added much, if anything, to her life. she's always working
hard on the late afternoon/evenings that i just happen to be lounging around, esp. on floor, and so she'll always knock to so kindly so she can carry my trash out (such spoiled artist i am) and etc etc., making it nicer place to lie down and nap. only thing i did may be was crack some jokes, laugh, and really enjoy her company, her genuine self. why? because she's got this great energy around her, trusting, happy and so open.
but us, the high-brow artists, ahem, i guess sometimes forget how to acknowledge a fellow human being without the stickers on foreheads. they see a working men, looks straight into their artist stickers and become mighty obsessively interested in oneself. like as if you ever treated the workers as fellow residents (which they are, at least by the definitions). shame on us for that. wtheck.
but whatever the situation was, the most touching thing was that she took the time to come, knock, wait, and have the courage to tell me this intimate message. that she felt better because i happened to be around, breaking some taboos and values hence providing some entertainment value, and including her into my banff life somehow. even when it was not so carefully thought of.
i dont mean to pat on the back, but boy, you would feel this weird as well if that happens to you. those fragmented times that i so casually threw away, meant something to someone else. and that i was thanked for those little bits and pieces- now that's not an everyday thing. it only happened because the kid has eyes to see what's important, and that she happened to be in my proximity, and i somehow miraculously managed to make her well, party of her environment, which really should be an automatic thing.
i have given those end pieces of time and she did something with it. something much better, a sense of appreciation and love for another human being- and the courage to come and say good bye and thanks for the last time for now...
time really is the only thing you can share.
we sometimes think we share things, ideas and tangible common gods. but at the end, even things such as physical gifts, are still representations of time sharing. instead of giving intangible thing such as time, we exchange the hours our days in order to require the means- whether bartering or purchasing, so that we may acquire some physical object. so it's all time. good time. oh bad pun.
there has been a few people who have been so generous with their time.
and i dont even need to blab their name. if they read this chicken scratch, they would recognize themselves, just as easily i recognize them in this thought of gratefulness for sharing something that can never be saved, accumulated or store.
for each of them, i wonder if i could come up with some sort of bizarre possibility to show my gratefulness. i will keep searching for the means to express that. i dont think i will be wildly successful though. but i have funny feeling that they already may know. thank god for sensitivity.
i have no idea how far the kid is on her last road trip in canada for this chapter of her life. i sent her with a smile and a bag of nice tea. because gas station teas sucks huge. that's only thing i had that was portable and 'nice' i had at the moment. if i remembered, i wouldve done something i think. because like everyone, that kid contributed to my life, and i just thought it would be something if she gets a small msg from me saying, hey, also thank you, kudos to you man, for being you. who knows when i would see you again, like particles in subatomic chamber.
i hope you like fruity tea. because, ya, that bag, it's rather fruity.
if you dont like blueberry, you are screwed, im afraid.