“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 825 (Saturday) – invitations and inspiration

Inspiration strikes when it wants and where it wants. It can be hoped for and invited, but that doesn’t mean it will appear. This knowledge was reinforced recently when I read the book Satori in Paris by Jack Kerouac. It was the theme for an exhibit and I hoped the words would invite a visit from the Muse and I’d be inspired to make photos to enter into the exhibit. I enjoyed the book, but the Muse didn’t visit. I had exactly zero ideas for new work, and insufficient ambition to look through the multiple binders of old negatives from Paris or hard drives of newer work to print from those. Looking at photos of a young Jack Kerouac during the past few months and various sources has shown me one thing. Young Jack was hot and if I was around Lowell in his young days, I would likely have been crushing on him. Hard. But I digress.

Satori in Paris - the exhibit.

The exhibit reception was today, and the show is an assortment of paintings, photos, and mixed media pieces. It was a treat to see the studio artists who were on site, a couple colleagues who attended, and a friend who had work in the show. Except for the masks required because the gallery is in a federal building, it all felt very pre-pandemic normal.

Looking at the artworks done by the folks who managed to get their acts together and create elicited mixed emotions. There was interesting work to admire and appreciate. At the same time, there was a twinge of sadness and regret that I hadn’t gotten my own crap together to have something to enter. It’s not the first time and surely won’t be the last.

During a conversation with a writer I met at the reception, we ran through a variety of topics. While I told her about photos I’ve taken in Maine and the vacations of my youth camping at York Beach, she commented a couple times that it gave her an idea. Sometimes all it takes is a conversation for inspiration. For half the conversational transaction, anyway. At least we exchanged business cards so we can resume the conversation. Too many times there have been great conversations with just-met people and then we go our separate ways and it becomes an eroding memory of “person X was so interesting, too bad I’ve never run into them again.”

So. Much. Brick.

After the reception it was back through the courtyard to the car and home. I took a minute to acknowledge all the brick. Downtown Lowell has a LOT of brickwork. Brick buildings. Brick courtyards. A brick park. More brick buildings. It feels stable. Solid. Dependable. No fairy tale wolf will blow down this little pig's house.

At The BungaLowell, Winston was waiting for me. Recently, instead of being upstairs outside the bedroom, he is in the office when I arrive home. When I come in through the kitchen door, he does the cute thing where he taps his front paws on the floor. This particular choreography is presented when I get home and twice a day when he reminds me that he has not received his good boy cookie for eating the prescription food he isn’t so keen on. The cookie reward system is alive and well, even if the Muse invitational system is not.