As I mentioned earlier in the term, I like to collect art in the form of T-shirts. I was walking by the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I saw a man advertising T-shirts that showed a particular silhouette. “Is that Wynton Marsalis?” I asked him. He answered, “you bet.” I saw the familiar pose of Wynton standing playing trumpet and I remembered all the days I spent idolizing him, back when I played the instrument, too.
The T-shirt evoked in me strong feelings as all art should, but that wasn’t the only art in the encounter. I feel like dialogue is an artform too: my conversation with Bill Peaks evoked in me the same strong feelings.
One of the first discussion we had was about where we were from. He told me that he was from Brooklyn, and I told him that I was raised for the 18 years of my life in Queens. He said that he could tell from my lack of accent.
Conversation is an art, because it connects we humans together. It reminds us of our common humanity. It is the soup that connects the ingredients of the New York Melting Pot.
I then analyzed his accent and said it was from Brooklyn. He said, “Well I just told you that.” We laughed, and looked at the beautiful space around us at the plaza of the Met. And for a moment, I felt as if we were meant for something bigger than where we were and where we came from. We felt like small humans huddling together in the cold big world.
Just one more example. The conversation then shifted to a story. Bill told me about how one of Wynton’s agents saw him in the crowd wearing the shirt, and how the agent hooked up him and Marsalis to meet. Bill told me of how he went up to Wynton’s Marsalis, how he climbed the stairs and stood in front of the door, and how Wynton came out to sign one of the shirts; and my mouth dropped. I didn’t feel jealous for him, but glad. His being had become an artwork. I listened to his words, saw the smile on his face, and I was able to communicate with it. I gave him a high five and we smiled together. It was like seeing a work of joyful art without the canvas standing in the way of maker and audience. And the joy flowed freely, channeled straight through the air without any hindering mediums.
In my opinion, I feel like no art can beat conversation in establishing that we’re all humans, in getting us to understand each other.
So, what is the point of other art forms if we can just talk? I believe that other arts are better for bringing us closer to heaven or hell, closer to the ethereal, which our souls long for in addition to being human.
