The City and The Artist

That’s the thing about this city, for ten months of the year it seems that nothing happens but, during these two months, it comes alive. It is summer moving gently into autumn with balmy nights and extended daylight hours. Frantic February and Mad March, the locals nickname the months and artists of all shapes, sizes and colours fill the city, usually from across the world. This year, is a little different and there are no visitors from overseas, yet artists from within come out of the shadows of the last year.

As I walk the street, a street usually filled with cars honking out their daily annoyances at the world, right now there are barricades at both ends. Chairs and tables spill out into the street topped with people eating, drinking at chatting while buskers sing them songs. Walking this street right now, you would not know that half the world is still in lockdown, fighting against a pandemic.

How lucky are we? Life is slightly normal. It this city of all places. So often this city is the but of jokes from the Eastern states, yet here we are nearing the end of a four week/five weekend festival in a timeframe that also included another two-week festival, a week-long writers festival and a three-day world-music festival. We have done it. We have shown the world what can be possible again.

It has been hard for artists, especially empathetic artists. We feel for our friends overseas who cannot see the light at the end of the lockdown tunnel. We feel guilty that we are able to perform in front of a live audience again. We hope that it brings them hope. We are carrying the torch, shining the light on how important live performance is for the human race and that, post-pandemic, we can return to it. I may never get to stage dive though. What a funny thing to think of! Perhaps, I missed my chance at ever doing a stage dive.

The community is happy, people are smiling, people are hugging. People that feel sick are staying at home and we are loving them for it. There is joy in the world again. Things are buzzing. Soon it will all be over again for another year and all the people will disappear back into their lives. I wonder where they all exist for the next 10 months. The city is never more alive than in these two months.

There is talk of extending the festivals again. It makes me feel tired. It is wonderful and the city is lit up and overflowing but I think there is a limit. A limit to how long we could sustain this feeling. Would it be dulled by an extension? Originally, the festivals were biannual but they have been annual for quite a time now and that has made them larger than life. But another extension of the time. I do not know if this city, my city, is ready for that or could handle that. It may lose the sparkle.

I wonder what used to happen in these months in this city. Before the tall buildings, the tram-lines that were installed, taken away, and then installed again, before the shops. They say you could swim in the river that flows through the city. I would not stick a big toe in the river now…not even a little toe either. Would these balmy nights have been celebrated in some ceremony, in gathering with neighbouring peoples? There would have been music and dancing, I am sure.

The street has coins from all over the world cemented into it. It is funny to watch people unaware of this as they drop down to pick up a dropped coin. I think the artist that created this had a sense of humour…and enjoyed people watching. I counted all of our currency once but cannot remember how much it added up to. It’s a fun activity to do on a less busy night.

Lights are being projected up into the sky from the Garden and the local fruit bats, or flying foxes flit around like they are calling out for Batman to appear. The bats haven’t always lived here but the people of the city have taken them into our fold and made sure they have had water when the days are too hot for them to cope. They have travelled here due to climate change affecting their food supply. They do look so cute and during the day they natter to each other and make quite an awful din as they hang upside down in the trees near the zoo.

There is a pop-up market tonight down a little alleyway of streets. Many local makers have brought their wares to sell. I wonder just how much money these makers, the restaurants and the pubs and bars make from the artists busting their butts to make a dollar from their work. They are the ones bringing all these people together and into this city's spaces yet they are the ones who risk it all, the ones that may leave empty-handed. Their soul tells them, “if you have made a difference in at least one person’s life; give them a chance to smile or laugh, taken them out of their troubles for just a moment, providing them with a safe space to feel or express their emotions, then it has all been worth it”. Until, of course, the next bill comes in and they wonder how to pay it. The paradox of being an artist. The soul’s value and the actual value.

The artist continues walking the street, enjoying watching the people with a tired, dreamy smile. The lights of the city shine bright and the parks are full of coloured bulbs and tents and bright shiny things with muted sounds permeating every space. The city looks at the artist and thanks them for bringing her to life for this short time. She sees their value and smiles upon them, with a promise of another festival season soon.