wild is the wind

I ran to catch the early train, got over to the art center where I pounded the air bubbles out of a block of clay, rolled and twisted, the texture was just so perfect, or maybe I'm just getting better at thinking and executing in three dimensions, as we all hope that the city doesn't close this place down with all their service cuts.

It bothers me that for all the lip service given to supporting "the arts" that supposedly will save us all, we give out these $20,000 grants and fellowships to people, but an institution that actually serves the people of the city and its surroundings and gives them the chance to create is on the potential chopping block.

It's not as glamorous maybe, but it's a haven for a lot of us, especially inner city kids, single moms, retired seniors, people with disabilities with dreams of starting their own businesses, Nepali (via Bhutan) refugees rediscovering lost traditions, and of course those in the cracker young people demographic like yours truly that the city panders to because we don't have to worry about schools to send our children to right now and we have a little extra spending money sometimes.

None of us would probably ever cross paths in our daily lives but we all come here to work on sculptures and dishware and whatever we feel like doing, be as social or as introverted as we please in a place that is . Most of us can't afford to take classes at CIA or Tri-C or the suburban art studios, but this gives us a chance to create even without the social privileges of the upper echelons.

So I came home last night, read and drank tea, am falling in love with my balcony with the missing rails because I'm in the middle of the city and there are stars to be seen and the view is much prettier at night.

I don't know what time it was when I woke up to the howling over the lake, heard the clatter of vinyl siding being ripped off the house next door, the shaking of the foundations, continual trembling, wondering if it's better to be on the top of a house or the bottom if said dwelling collapses into a pile of matchstick.

I stumbled into the kitchen where the door had been blown open, boxes of tea and anything attached by magnet to the fridge were on the floor, the gutters are laying on the roof, and I doubt that balcony gardening is going to work when one lives too close to the lake because only the mint seems to survive the frequent onslaughts.