Friday Night in Portland

The First Friday Art Walk is always fun in Portland, especially as the weather gets nicer. Last night wasn't exactly balmy, but it wasn't snowing, so I'm counting my blessings.


The cool night didn't keep the people at home, however, and neither did it keep the street performers from sharing the passions with the world. The performances ranged from amusing to fascinating, from (what I called) "the very essence of amateur," to like watching a train wreck, to a solid, entertaining show.

There was one troupe that Simon described as if my cousin Basha (who's the earthy, creative type) had thrown together a slipshod circus in 45 minutes. They are not pictured here, sorry.

However, we did come upon this gentleman:


He is making music with an old violin bow, a tin box (Altoids, perhaps?) and an amplifier. I can't say what role the Maine license plate plays, but I am certain it is an important one. Oh, yes. He's also warbling into the microphone. I've officially put this in the category of Portland contemporary art that I am not meant to "get." I generally believe that if an artist obscures the point of his or her own work just to be trendy and hip, that art loses all impact and importance (For example, I don't buy, that the answer to "What's the point?" can be "There is no point, man!" I see too much pointlessness on the news to want to hang it on my walls, thank you very much.) But, regardless if I get this man's work or not, it was entertaining to watch (while somewhat alarming to listen to). Good for him. I hope he's out there again next month.

The other set of street performers who made it onto the camera were a troupe of Carnivale-style dancers who, while not professionals by any means, were entertaining enough to keep Simon and I (I being in a very snarky mood) stationary for some time. While I am less impressed with Professor Pyro-something-or-other's fire-handling skills, I quite liked the belly and fire dancers.






So, all in all, it was a lovely Friday. Most are here in Portland. Every day when I walk to work, I remember how much I love it here. And every evening, whether the streets are quiet or graced by the tender notes of a man playing an Altoids box with an old bow, I think of how I don't ever want to leave.