Denver is a hip town that has hip events for hipsters. And old hippies like me. I have a mixed love affair of venturing downtown. The ride isn't long, but it can be grueling. Traffic, construction and lack of adequate highways make the trek a tricky proposition. Lucky for me I know Denver pretty well. I live here in the late seventies and early eighties and though the density has changed, the street rotations have not. Once one understands the numbering system, that downtown was inserted catawampus into the grid, then you'll get around just fine.
This week I forayed into the big city. Twice. And I'm doing it again tomorrow. Monday night was the Opening Block Party for Denver Startup Week. Through my association with the Poetry Society of Colorado, I learned about this event and threw my hat into the ring to participate in the festivities. As a poet.
Vintage typewriters were set up and four wordsmiths each manned a station. The premise was simple; attendees would mosey over to one of us and tell their story. We in turn were charged with translating their words into a poetic form. The gates of the event opened and we got busy listening, typing and presenting a quasi-finished poem to the brave story teller.
I had a blast. I used to be an event planner and know the importance of turning "ON" when an event is underway. The smile. The barking out to passers-by. "Hey! Would you like to tell me a little about yourself and I'll make it into a poem?". My reticence of crowds instantly dissipates in these situations and I become engaging and witty. A perfect combo for me. Using my event experience and showcasing my ability to produce rhyming couplets and quatrains on the spot.
Why didn't I think of this before? Combining my two talents really sparked me. My business brain already has a plan in place to duplicate this experience at all the coolest events in town. I just need to buy a typewriter or two, procure ribbons, contact my old event buddies, get business cards and a website... Whoa! Do I really want to do that? It is times like this when I wonder if I stopped working too early, too young. Should I jump back into a routine? A business? A commitment?
I might. I never know where my heart and my brain may take me. But for now, I will just revel in the escapade. I drove downtown. I found a good on-street spot thus avoiding paying a garage. I got a check for my services. And a souvenir T-Shirt. That's enough for today.
The next day, I went to the Denver Art Museum for the Lighthouse Writer's Drop-In workshop. This month we focused on the newly opened Rembrandt exhibit. Again, I scored great parking. Again, I managed to arrive without going on I25. If you live here, you know how great that is! I even went up to Boulder County afterwards, and still never went on the highway. I am feeling cosmopolitan and smug!
The Drop in Writing at the Museum is a monthly event. Free to members and anyone else for the price of admission. I listened to the instructions and prompts set forth by the Executive Director of Lighthouse, Michael Henry. There were probably around 18 of us.
I adore ekphrastic exercises. But on this day my brain wasn't having it. The images were small, the exhibit was crowded. Instead of focusing on the etchings and engravings and drawings, I focused on the labels. The handy explanations by curators and MBA's of art to help us lay people. The blurbs neatly written on the sides of the artworks, and even directly onto the museum walls. This is where a camera phone really comes in handy. I snapped a dozen pics of words and sat in a comfy chair with a back in the lobby.
Here is an excerpt:
The first thing I have to do is forgive myself. Because I came here to look at Rembrandt's work, either with my naked eye or through a slightly warping magnifying sheet. But I was more drawn to the process of his work; not the product. The how he did this, rather than look at what he did. So I forgive myself for not doing what I am supposed to. What the prompts suggested I do. I will return another day for a generous gander, but today is more reflective. Introspective.And I will share a few of the points I pondered:
"Sketchbook sheets of interesting characters because it enabled him to capture details of anatomy, a universe of emotions." As a writer of poetry and memoir, an essayist, an observer, it is incumbent upon me to analyze the inner architecture of my subject matter, not just the outward appearance. Universe of emotions?? That says it all, no?
"Enhance the drama of those scenes through effect of light and shadow" Ah... the crux of my writing. Do I expose my shadow self? Be vulnerable, approachable? Or do I illuminate my being - perhaps falsely - showing an unnatural, forced side to my reader?
I have a dozen more of these ruminations. How I can convert art practices into writing practices when I have never been a visual artist. I would have written even more, but an intern from the DAM interrupted me and asked if I would mind filling out a sheet on a future Monet exhibit. This was a cluster exercise and I obliged. We had a nice chat and just like so many of the young people I poeticized the night before, she is a newcomer to the Mile High City.
Friday I am back to central and downtown Denver. My Friday memoir class meets at a cute little library in Platt Park. We are an unofficial spin-off of the now defunct Write Age. There is something about old(er) writers and former hippies, and ex-educators, and retired people. We are pretty unstoppable when it comes to getting it down on paper!
I have a short break between that ending and The Friday 500 at Lighthouse on Colfax and Race. This is a free-write followed by a craft talk. I am excited because this week is poetry, by a man who has Parkinson's. I have Rheumatoid Arthritis and I am interested to hear how his challenges present in his work.
After that I am back to the Denver Art Museum for Untitled Friday festivities. The art is floral in nature and there will be a build-your-own corsage station. What more could an ex, or is that future, event professional ask for?
Time to Write,
Jane
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