Carlsbad Art and Culture

Once upon a time there was a wall who begged for attention. He desired the obscure conversation and jumped on any chance to entertain. His passions belonged on the stage and his heart in the eyes of the public. His thoughts, educated through world wanderings and long reads, belonged in the ears of cool cats and productive hermits. His ideas sought underground publications and coffee stained crossword puzzles. He ached for an escape from the uniformed lifestyle of his stagnant community, but was grounded after each attempt. He watched the sun rise every day over the stream of speeding motorists and cried as the sun set behind him in a magnificent explosion of unfamiliar colors. He sobbed as cars honked and closed his eyes.

The honks continued as his tears fought with the oils of the neighboring highway. Obscenities lashed his rough face and battered his will. He cringed at each verbal attack as he tried to hide his swollen eyes. Trash, once tossed onto the sticky asphalt, now flung with the intent to splatter upon his flat facade. His hair became mangled and his fists clenched. His legs weakened and his mind bruised; he collapsed along the highway, weathered by a squall of insult and misery.

With his face in the mud and his hands white with anger, he realized his breakdown had been watched by each passing motorists. Their interest had spread creating a long winding stream of red brake lights like the overflowing lava of a recent eruption. What incited his downfall had also ignited his revival. He raised to his feet and stood strong as beams of sunlight timidly watched through June’s gloomy sky. The ground he firmly stood on, though far from the coastal excitement of the village, entered each passing motorist’s sight. By default, he had been seen by all.

The past dreams of a far off stage had fogged the importance of his current location. Why would he want to join the frothing streets of other struggling entertainers? Why would he want to join a market saturated with talent and ambitions? Why would he enter the unforgiving pursuit of fame, the overcrowded agencies and the swollen heads of artistic competition? He didn’t need the hype of a community made shiny by the ill rubs of fortune and greed. He didn’t need a resume filled with glamorous venues and headlining references. His home was a silent stage, his community a lonely canvas and he was an artist with a brightly colored palette.