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Dear Reader

Artwala Road has been up and running for six weeks now and already readers have come from England, Japan, Spain, Israel, Canada, India, Ireland, Korea, Australia, Sweden, France, Morocco and all across the United States. And not through any great effort on my part. Not yet anyway. I’ve been focussing on overcoming technical ineptitude and on creating content. Friends with sites of their own have kindly pointed this way. Google has referred those who searched for subjects that exist in some form on the site. And in the magical, interconnectedness of the internet, connections are being made. I’m glad you’re here.

Mostly I’m talking about art here, about the process of making it, about what it might do in this moment in time, about things I see and like and that inspire me. I think a lot about art because to me art reflects our consciousness in this moment in time, or it can. Art can lead consciousness.

As dire as things are on the planet right now there are lots of signs of positive change. In art, in people. I’m looking for signs of art on the planet and reporting the good news here. Whatever comes across my path.

One big sign of positive change is this cyber space where connections are made and news travels fast. The underground is now overground. And we’re all part of it. All of you who visit here and everywhere from all over the world. Talk about radical and talk about good. Art on the planet.

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One Fine Story / Art on the Planet

Hugs…

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Art on the Planet/Stoned

We went to a Rolling Stones concert last night at Gillette Stadium, which is a forty-five minute ride from Boston. This was the first night of their Bigger Bang tour here in the U.S. More on that amazing concert tomorrow, but first this. We found ourselves in the back row of the lower level next to a young African-American woman sitting on her own. She was one of the few people of color we saw. Despite the fact that the Stones drew their original inspiration from Muddy Waters, one of the greatest black performers of all time, it looks like few blacks are into either the Stones or Muddy. In Muddy’s later years his audience was almost exclusively white.

The back row was empty save for the three of us and once the band finally started, with a bang, I have to say, we were up on out feet dancing. The whole stadium was up dancing. And our companion was singing all the words. But after the second number this young woman looked at her watch and said she had to go; the last train back to Boston was leaving in a half hour and she had to catch a cab to get it. I said—but you can’t go, they’re just starting. She looked so disappointed. We immediately offered her a ride home; she immediately accepted.

For a second I wondered, should we have? Crazy, but in this crazy world we have crazy thoughts. Like should you offer a total stranger a ride, even a lovely young woman with a beautiful smile. All the stereoptypes of race reared their unpleasant heads. She was eyeing us too. Which is so interesting considering that the Stones were and are about nothing if not breaking through stereotypes to the freedom of who we all truly are.

Outside we were stuck in the snaking line of slow-moving traffic, our new friend, Sam, in the back seat, my husband and I up front. Then, just to push our awareness further, a young man came to the window and asked my husband if we could give him and a friend a ride to Boston. He had an Australian accent and said he thought there’d be buses but there weren’t any. There was no sign of his friend but when we hesitated, he pointed her out, a girl, waiting on the sidewalk.

Still, for a moment, we all hesitated, even Sam. That’s how deep our mstrust is now. But when he asked again, patiently, politely, we said yes and the young man hailed the girl on the sidewalk who was trembling with anxiety of her own. She was also, it turned out, from Australia. They are both exchange students at Boston College and we immediately saw they were good folks and apologized for our hesitation. This is life now—how suspicious we all are. They said they were so grateful; they’d been scared they’d be stranded there in the dark surrounded by dark, hulking used car dealerships and empty, swampy fields, or that they might get in a car with people who’d been drinking or worse.

The traffic was so horrendous it took us two hours to get back to the city, small wonder with no buses. We talked about The Stones, Australia, travel and trusting others. They were all impressed when I said I saw The Stones way back when Stevie Wonder was opening up for them. I had to wonder as we drove up that dark highway what brought these three lovely young people to us but it felt fitting, just what might have happened back in the sixties when the Stones were just starting. When they rebelled with every fiber of their being against the status quo of the staid and proper England of restraint they’d been born into.

We dropped the Australians off first. They held the door open while they repeated mantras of gratitude. By the time we dropped Sam off it was two in the morning. She asked if she might give us some gas money; we said no, of course not. She said this night had been such a great adventure, so incredible in so many ways; she didn’t know how to thank us. We said no thanks were necessary, it had been a great night for us too. She said there was nothing she could do; she’d have to pay her gratitude forward.

That was art on the planet. Thank you, Sam. For giving us the opportunity to make our own Stone rebellion against suspicion and mistrust. To come out for love. And fun. More on The Stones tomorrow.

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I'm Cat Bennett, artist and author of The Confident Creative / Drawing to Free the Hand and Mind.

Thank you...

Ring the bells that still can ring,

Forget your perfect offering,

There's a crack in everything,

That's how the light gets in.
~Leonard Cohen





Our world is more malleable than we think. We can bend it into better shape.

~Bono

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