I read my little fairy tale (see previous post) at the Small Festival of Fine Hearts, held at our community art centre. It was billed as an art show and poetry reading, and once I was reassured that it wasn't all hearts and flowers, I thought I would take my "Verbatim" piece for its first public appearance.
Our little art centre is very cozy, having a capacity of about 50 people. It was full to bursting on Tuesday night. There was a potluck spread of goodies, including local cider, candied hibiscus blossoms, vegan energy balls and chocolate. The walls were hung with paintings and drawings and my work, the only textile piece.
I was amazed by the variety and quality of the performances. There were poems, and songs, and spoken word. There were stories about Ethiopia, of passionate love, of rats, of long legs. It was an evening to rival any I have have experienced, anywhere. It reminded me, during these days of the star-studded "Cultural Olympiad" across the water in Vancouver, that the real work of culture happens at the local level.
I read my tale aware that some of those in the audience knew more of the details, knew that it wasn't just a story. I felt my words were a little simplistic and banal in the midst of so many eloquent offerings, but realised I had deliberately cloaked the jagged edges of what really happened in a familiar, soothing style.
It felt good to get it out, to hear it in the world. And I also realised that is why my blog is important to me - having one's experiences witnessed and acknowledged by others is a vital step in the creative process.