I love talking to Nick. Or rather, I love listening to him. When he launches into almost any topic, especially causes that he takes special interest in, I can literally hear the passion gushing out of his words. And I mean like literally. And his energy for the subject is really infectious, so much so that I can feel the osmosis of excitement as I sit on the opposite side of the table. I mean, heck, it's not even my cause but I'm already getting enthusiastic about it just listening to him gesture animatedly in his geeky glasses.
Tonight, Nick was trying to sell me his concept of an Artgig (he scribbles it on a sheet of paper, one word with a capital 'A'). Mind you, it's not an art exhibition, he says. I stare at him blankly.
An art exhibition, says Nick sagely, provides the same experience to anyone no matter what time or day the person comes to the exhibition. The set-up remains the same, the art pieces don't change.
An Artgig, on the other hand, is a performance. A person who comes it at say, 8pm, will have a totally different experience from another who comes at 10pm. Because the show is constantly changing. A good performance entertains, Nick says. But an excellent performance inspires. And that's what we're trying to achieve.
Nick wants to do an Artgig.
At this point I'm getting it. But what's driving him to do this?
Conversations. Nick says simply. We don't have conversations anymore. People correspond with one another, sure. But we do it through text messages, email, facebook...not face-to-face conversations. When was the last time you had a heartfelt conversation with another human being?
An Artgig tells a story, someone's story. It gives the audience and the artist a chance to interact with one another, talk about the art piece, hear someone else's life experiences. And we touch each other's lives in turn.
Nick's putting up some photo pieces (he's a great photographer by the way); a chef friend of his is cooking up a thematic food storm, and another friend is throwing in paintings. They're trying to find a way to send all proceeds from the gig to Pakistan to aid the flood victims.
He scribbles the theme for me on the sheet of paper where he has already drawn mind maps and bubbles and arrows all over. "It's the Simple Things". And it'd be great if you could contribute something to the gig, he continues.
Me? Wow. An art show? I mean gig. But I've never done something like this before. Nick looks surprised. Surely this must be right up your alley, he says. You'd definitely know how to appreciate something like this. And I need someone to help me organise it too.
I hesitate. I feel like this is so culturally arty-fied that it totally falls out of my realm of reality. I haven't felt so passionate about a cause in a long time, not since I left college, and spending all that time in the corporate world can make one forget about the finer things in our human existence. Listening to him made me nostalgic for that. Come on, he jokes, it's not like you're that old you know.
We drift onto other topics over our dinner food. He gives me some tips on how to manipulate my camera's capabilities to achieve different shots. I feel so enlightened that I hurriedly scribble down some notes on the napkin.
As I fiddle around with the camera experimenting with my newly acquired skills, I muse that I could do a series of photos of my mum. Although it would be amateur of course. Do it, Nick encourages, it would be cathartic for you too.
Before we part, Nick casually throws it back at me again. So how? says he, Can you help me with the gig? I need someone to back me up on the planning and marketing and getting the word out.
And just like that, I'm now part of the show. See how inspiration works?
We all need to find people who inspire us. I'm a convert.
this is great (:
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