The other day, my 15-year-old middle daughter Ivy asked me if she could take guitar lessons over the summer. She doesn’t ask for much, so I agreed. It warmed my heart a little understanding that her grandfather was a formidable guitar player. Her uncle is also a guitar player and, to a reasonable degree, so was I. I’ve been waiting years to see if that seed would ever take root in any of my children.
So, we began with finding a suitable teacher who makes house calls. Then, listening to her play for the first time in the living room, while I sat exiled to the garage, felt incredibly satisfying. She is even learning to play using her grandfather’s guitar, which was handed down to me and, as of last week, now belongs to her. Sentimentality aside, it was the music being made the morning of her first lesson that brought some real sunshine to the day, making it so much brighter than just another hot Georgia Thursday afternoon. It was the sound of brand-new “art” being created and filling my house — Ivy’s art.
After her lesson was over, we discovered that her teacher was also responsible for painting the colorful murals covering the walls of one of our local pizzerias, Mellow Mushroom. So we decided to go grab a bite and check it out. We climbed into my pride and joy, a 1989 Ford Bronco, and hit the open road.
Now, I bought that Bronco — a never-ending, work-in-progress restoration — because of the way it looks and feels and because of the magical way it makes me feel when I’m behind the wheel. And the way other people in traffic turn their heads to get a quick glance of it on the highway. That Lake Placid blue and white throwback to another time is more than just a vehicle to get my kids and me back and forth from point A to point B. It was painstakingly put together over 30 years ago with love and care by a group of highly skilled artisans. It’s more than just a truck. To me, it’s a piece of art.
On the way, we passed a jet-black Tesla on the road. Now, technology aside, the way that sleek ninja of a car is crafted — the curves and body design are incredible. There is nothing else like it on the road. It’s a gorgeous car. It’s also, you guessed it, a work of art.
We finally got to the restaurant, pulled into the lot and looked around at the interior walls. We took in all the color, all the imagination, all the time it must have taken to manufacture that vibe — that well-known Mellow Mushroom vibe. It wasn’t just a bunch of prefab flare hanging on the walls to offer up some illusion. It was dedication and hours of work by painters with something to say. It was art.
My daughter and I sat down and ordered. We chose some wacky version of a pizza with jerk chicken (an off-the-menu item … if you know, you know.) It tasted great. But the two things I noticed before we dug into the pie were how pristine it looked when it arrived at the table, and how my daughter needed to take a perfect picture of it for the iPhone memory bank. After eating, we checked out a little more of her teacher’s work down the road at Nacho Mama’s, got back in the Bronco, and listened to The Cure’s Disintegration album all the way home.
When we got back, she went straight into her room to practice strumming the chords she’d learned earlier that day while I sat on the couch and caught the last half of Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight. It’s the kind of movie that I can’t turn off once I notice it’s on. It’s a cinematic masterpiece.
And then I listened to a few chapters of S.A. Cosby’s new book, All the Sinners Bleed, on Audible before finally settling down at my desk to write this column for all of you fine folks.
So let’s recap.
Fresh new guitar music: Art.
My Bronco and that Tesla, two different eras connected by one definitive common thread: Art.
Being surrounded by murals as we ate: Art.
The food, even the photography of the food: Art.
The Nolan film: Art.
Followed by surreal voice acting: Art.
And then, lastly, the writing of my own words for your entertainment: Art.
Art isn’t just some collection of items contained in museums or coffee table books. It’s not a mechanical search. It’s all around us. All the time. Waiting for us to notice. Waiting to make us feel better than we did before.
What would today have been without art? What would the world be?
I’ll tell you — just another hot Thursday afternoon in Georgia.
And what kind of life would that be?
Well, definitely not one that my daughter nor I am willing to settle for … no one should.
