If you didn't know already by the endless amount of pictures I posted and the endless amount of emotion I expressed, I had a rather big event this past Saturday. It's over. My shoulders are returning to their normal relaxed position. My sleep was not interrupted at five in the morning with thoughts and fears of platforms that needed adjusting and lighting cues and DJs and such. Once the event ends there is about a week breather and then, well, it's on to the next one.
There's always a next one and for that, I'm terribly grateful.
The event was new for me. Sure, it had a big center bar. My guests require that from me at gunpoint. And it had sexy music. This time though, we turned the lawn into a bit of a museum and a bit of performance art and all around the sensory experience was unlimited if you wanted it to be.
So was mine. Those senses tend to get the best of me.
Lessons in Taste: It takes time to taste food.
The food was amazing and the chef cooking on site went out of his way to make sure I tried the first of everything. And at the end of the night one of the catering staff set aside a plate for me. My absolute favorite thing to do once an event ends is to wait for the last person to leave, walk past the wait staff having their cigarettes, take something small to eat and a diet coke and go sit in the middle of the event space and just breathe it all in.
The food tastes so much better when you have time to taste it. Even today, exhausted and barely able to get up to oversee the tent teardown this morning, I came back home to rest and went out for a very late dinner. Asked for a table in the back and ordered pork chops and mashed potatoes and steamed spinach and took time to not answer calls, to not answer email, to not tweet but to enjoy a very good meal.
It takes time to taste food. And doing so in the middle of a gorgeous lit tent sitting on my white museum bench was simply lovely. And sitting in the back of a restaurant looking back quietly on a great event is even lovelier.
Lessons in Smell: Stay in your moments.
I was going to wear my perfume but I wore his cologne. Which might end up being mine if I decide to buy it but for now I have this small sample I got so I could smell him when I'm not with him. Groan, such a girl, I know. And all evening I kept forgetting to reach down to my wrist to breathe him in. I wanted to have all the important people a part of me that evening. I wore my grandfather's WWII necklace with my mother's name imprinted, my father's worn belt and that damn cologne.
There are moments to be in rather than waiting for moments. I should have stopped to smell his cologne. I would have liked to have remembered that, that night.
We were almost finished with set up and ready to start the event when someone went up to one of the artists and said, "You are so talented! Do you ever get tired of people telling you that?" She turned around, smiled and said, "No. I was deprived of admiration as a child so I'll take all I can get." And then she picked up her brush and kept painting.
How honest to say 'I like when you compliment me' or 'I like admiration'. We are so fearful of being honest about our needs for fear of judgement and to witness someone do so with such abandon was attractive. No wonder she looks 20 years younger than she is. Hmmmm...
Lessons in Sight: See what you see not what they see.
When MOCA opened years ago, I was very young and my mother stood me in front of Blue and asked me, "What do you see?" I wanted to move on to the light installation because it had multiple colors and neon lighting and there were all these walls you could run through. She asked again, "What to you see?" At the time, I don't think I saw much more than the ocean or the sky but now, oh, now, there are so many stories I see in that same Blue. I could stand there for hours and tell you layers and layers of what I see and I'm so glad she taught me to see what I see and not to see what she told me to see.
While we were setting up for yesterday's event, three little girls walked by and wanted to watch the florists designing our art inspired masterpiece. I asked them, "What do you see?" And, then, right then it was as if I was my mom standing in MOCA next to these little girls and waiting to see what their new, young, creative, emotional, excited feminine brains would experience and any answer would be right.
I walked the event over and over last night and saw lots of little groups, not really cliques. This community is very community-ish and embraces new neighbors rather well. Still, there are the few that have that hard time moving away from clinging to the cocktail table, getting outside their comfort zone and finding new friends.
And isn't that what we all want? Friends. A place to belong. Someone to give a damn when we have a cold. And then hopefully someone to give even more of a damn when things are really bad, like swine flu or a breakup or a breakout?
It's frequently the case that everyone goes on to the next party and I go home alone. It's the nature of my role. I'm coming to accept that. I don't accept it for the lonely guy standing in the crowd that just needs a handshake or a pat on the back or a touch on the shoulder or someone to say, "you matter."
Well, you matter. You do.
At the end of the night, on that museum bench, eating my end of the night plate of appetizers and looking up at my end of the night beautiful lighting that was now lit just for me and staring at those flowers and taking it all in with all of my senses, well, you know. I cried like a damn baby.
Two of my security guys walked up and asked what was wrong since my head was hung low trying to hide a sensory overload of tears. I wiped my face with both hands and said, "three months of planning rolling down my face and....I'm a girl."
With abandon, I say it. Feeling free to experience my feelings I say it and enjoying the touch of the tears on my face I feel it.
Much artistic love to you this fine early Monday.
Cole
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