Day 1, what’s up Spiztown?! (a list of things that have happened today plus pictures)

(This post was supposed to go up last night, but the internet went out, so we are at Ishi, doin’ it up.)

1. The first thing we heard this morning: A father is leading his small child into the car. The child becomes fixated on us in the window. “They’re living there,” the father tries to explain. “Isn’t that crazy?”

2. Cate dropped two stamped postcards for us to decorate in our drop box. They are addressed to Kris Neely as part of his “Artist in Transit” project (http://creativebusstop.blogspot.com.) We used one as a warm up for our Exquisite Corpse activity and then mailed it from a mailbox on Main on one of our breaks.

3. We gave this dude a makeover during the Exquisite Corpse. Nine makeovers.

4. Everyone we know in Spartanburg came to visit us. Everyone we don’t know in Spartanburg came to visit us.

5. It rained.

6. People put things in our drop box.

7. I farted in the box. It was pretty bad.

8. I napped in the box. It was hard to do. I woke up and a little boy was watching me sleep. He ran away as soon as I raised my head.

9. Catherine brought us Bruster’s!

10. We made an image diagram. It started at Disney World, as all things do. Themes include the apocalypse, cowboys, Pangea, and repeated forms. There is a thread that involves many, many kinds of facial hair (culminating in a moustached lady, connected to a great handlebar moustache, connected to Alex Trebek, connected to both a robot and Liza Minelli), Indians, in all forms and all definitions (connected to Darjeeling and Wes Anderson), and, of course, New York (connected to King Kong, Hillary Clinton and gay men).

11. Fox News came and interviewed us. I shelved my idealism and cooperated with them, but tried to sneak some references to the connections between George Bush Sr., foreign oil and extinction on our diagram.

12. We used all of the old art and craft supplies I forgot I had, crammed in the broken clear plastic dorm room drawers I got freshman year: string, paint markers, cray-pas. It felt good to know that I bought them for something, all those years ago. They were essential today. This has been the definition of Make, Don’t Think.

13. Two redheaded twins in a Christian hardcore band spoke to us through the midnight. They went to their car and got their CD for us to listen to, new stuff that the fans were salivating for. We were the privileged first listeners. We told them what we were doing here, about the residency. “We’re here 11 months,” we told them. “And then you get to leave?” they said, envious, implying that they could not for reasons unknown to us. They told us about their music. “Have you read the psalms, like of King David,” the more emo-looking one asked me. “Yes.” “It’s like that, like divine inspiration, that’s what I write about.” He told me about his abstinence pledge. He spoke about it articulately, with a clear head, with no hypocrisy, with admission that it has been hard, he has not been perfect, he condemns no one. He told me about his absent father, and how he replaced him with God. We talked to them for over an hour. They were funny, Rachel and I laughed a lot at some of the things they said, though I can’t remember much of the funny parts of the conversation.

14. Rachel and I sat out on our stoop and we laughed about the people we had just met, looking out onto Main Street and I realized this was exactly what I had wanted to do, exactly what I had wanted from Spartanburg– to sit outside at night with a friend and a drink and laugh, and look at the people left on the street and entertain the idea that they all had something to offer, and that we would somehow meet them all.

Other stuff: Younger people, college-age, are the least excited about this whole thing. They walk by and pretend they don’t see us, confirming what I have suspected about Spartanburg– that the older people are much more interesting than the young people here.

And though Art Jail was something we threw around before we came in here, it has become clear that we are going to get very little done in here that does not have to do with being in the box. It’s hard to paint in here. The light is weird and so is my workspace. I finished one small painting, but it didn’t come out looking right. Besides, there are too many people to talk to, too much time spent setting up, taking down and participating in the activities we set out for ourselves. And this was the primary goal of this whole thing, so I feel ok about it. For the first time since we’ve been here, we are finally talking to people, people we wouldn’t normally meet. As long as Art Jail comes directly following this experience, I think it will be worth it.