Austin — I’m seeing my singing venues shift since I started this adventure and I find myself doing many of my sessions outside. This could be due to the changes in weather, but I suspect it has something to do with the evolution of my practice … about being drawn to doing it “out” into the world rather than in my studio or some other private space.
My neighborhood park is one of my more frequent practice venues these days and it never ceases to show me something fresh. Today, as I’m singing and sitting on a concrete picnic table, I see a man, shirtless walk toward the tennis courts between us. He’s carrying a bright white box.
I see this guy here a lot. He occupies the same table early each morning, shopping cart parked, his day home during sunlight. Sometimes he yells into the air, a continuous stream of rant-sounding words.
As I sing here, simple repeated rhythms offered into the air, I think he and I are not so different, making noise in the park.
He places the white box on a metal garbage can next to a telephone poll and plugs a cord into a socket on the pole. Then he walks, a small plastic bowl in hand, to the drinking fountain, fills up the bowl and returns to place it in the box. I’m singing quietly now, my attention rapt, and hear the unmistakable tiny dings of a microwave being programmed. He closes its door and walks back to his domain while it cooks.
The park is his kitchen. The garbage can his counter. The fountain his sink. He walks with the quiet ease of someone repeating a daily household routine. I smile and sing, delighted at how the world rises to meet us.