A Visit with the Doctor and a Remedy for Fear

I hate street fairs. Let me be more precise... I hate what is presented as art at street fairs. I guess it stems from my judgement that art should not make you recoil in horror or shade the eyes of small children. I envision mothers pointing to a drooling 20-something year old who twitches uncontrollably and barks and when asked the nature of the ailment the reply is "yes, poor dear was frightened by a neo impressionist painting of the New York Skyline done in oil paint and toilet paper, hasn't been the same since." And I do not consider gluing sand, shells, glitter and a plastic fish onto toilet bowl brushes with matching waste basket and soap dish a "craft". I think waking to that particular grouping first thing in the morning would create an entire new crop of anti-depressant users. But the sign in the first booth showed promise (see above) even if it was crap... it hadn't been mass produced. As the show wore on this was a comfort to me.

However. I had not come to see the art at the Hoboken Music and Arts Festival. I had a Doctor's appointment, with Malcolm John Rebennack- or by his professional name... Dr. John. I had visited the good doctor many times and happy or sad, sick or well he's always managed to lift me higher. From the fairgrounds at Jazz Fest in New Orleans to the open air concert 2 summers ago at Lincoln Center (in the sweltering 90+ humid degrees he rocked the audience in a red velvet suit) I was in love with the sound of his raspy N'awlins R & B. I remember taking Gaby to that concert- "What kind of music does he play?" she asked. I was at a loss... what is it... I just said "C'mon..." She went from somewhat withdrawn and oh-so Teutonically proper to standing on a little plastic chair yelling "wooooooooooooooooo-oooo" and calling me "bay-bee". It was a little disconcerting (almost no pun intended)



But I arrived 2 hours prior to concert time towed by my friend Margo so I saw three million eight hundred pairs of "cute" earrings (Margo by her own admission cannot resist a shiny object). Two thousand clever belts made out of ribbon and enough bad art to float a world tour. Perhaps Mr Saatchi- to follow the success of his "Sensation" show at the Brooklyn Museum, would sponsor a tour of the stuff.. maybe call it "Abomination" and charge people for the privilege of staying away- he'd make a fortune and this stuff would be out of the light of day. Win-win.

I was not completely crabby- I felt a little non-crabby twinge in my left toe- might have been gout. It was a beautiful day. There was TONS of street food (which I love- when it comes to this kind of comestible I am about as fussy as a NYC pigeon)
Margo grabbed a plate of Indian food, all of which would look just awful on her white shirt and I chose a Brazilian steak sandwich with so much garlic on it I think I felt vampires in Transylvania flinch as I bit into it.

We walked around the corner to a small park to avoid covering ourselves in food that would stain us into the afterlife if we tried to eat standing up. I had my camera and as we ate took pictures of escaping children's balloons and trees and used the telephoto lens to capture some toddlers, well, toddling on the warm green grass. I bemoaned the fact that I could not get closer to the kids- I do not take many photos of people. Margo chided gently- "Why not? Go ask!" I had a million excuses but the truth is- asking is not easy for me- what if they said no? I am not certain now what I thought people I asked would say. But I just sat looking at my sandwich and feeling like I'd missed something- and being not really sure what it was.





Immediately after the last bite had been taken Margo leapt up, certain we had missed thousands of shinier earrings and we headed back into the increasingly madding crowd; give someone a bottomless drink cup and a bit too much sunshine- this will happen. But we perused the best the fair had to offer- and even encountered some of the more colorful folks the crowd offered up.

Some put their colors over their skin:



And some put the colors directly on their skin. I offered that in this case if the artiste became fatigued I would gladly provide an assist. Purely professional of course- I went to art school... (RRRRRRRooowroooooooowrrr)



And as we entered yet one more dimly lit soap, plant hanger something or other booth- I saw a tattoo. Now granted, in this neck of the wood- there are a lot of tattoos. But this one caught my eye. A tiny pair of wooden shoes. I turned to Margo and said "look!"- she said, "wow, cool". There was something more than ink here... I needed to know what it was. A lot. I pulled my camera from my bag and tapped just above the tat. The person who turned was- kind of young... I could not tell her age as there was so much make up covering her bright eyes and the dusting of freckles across the bridge of a pert nose. "Can I take a picture of your tattoo?" I asked- waiting for a snarl. "Mom, can she?" she asked, and from the shadows came a very tall mom. Daughter and mom shared a make-up style and I could see the eyeliner harden around her eyes as they narrowed."What for?" she asked. "It's for me"- I said- " I think it's really neat." (OK, I said "neat"- I was in Jimmy Olsen mode, sue me) "No face" said her mom. I said sure- and her mother chastised her for the bra strap showing under her camisole- "M-oom, its not even a bra" she said in disgust as she pushed away the hand that fussed at her lingerie. And then we began to talk as I took a couple of shots. The tattoo was for her grandmother- who had passed last Fall. "We're Dutch" her mother chimed in. "I wanted something to remind me of her" the girl said looking at me intensely- "Angels and stuff are stupid. This kind of..made sense- you know?". I said I did. And we talked a bit more about her grandmother and the hardness left the eyes of 3 former strangers as they told me their story.

Afterwards Margo and I walked down to Observer Highway as the good Doctor began sermonizing and preaching the good "woid" of R & B. He was playing one of my favorite songs of his. I can't think that Johnny Mercer QUITE had Mac Rebbennack's throaty growl in mind when he wrote these lyrics but when I hear this song in my head it's pure Dr. John

You've got to accentuate the positive
Eliminate the negative
Latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with Mister In-Between

You've got to spread joy up to the maximum
Bring gloom down to the minimum
Have faith or pandemonium
Liable to walk upon the scene



Have faith or pandemonium. Got it. Faced it. Next?

:) X