River Arts District

 October 24, 2024

Prolonged my agricultural activities by loading up at Jesse Israel’s, where they were selling end-of-season plants two for the price of one. Poor root-bound things, this late in the season. 

A spider wove in my bedroom window a web which, because of the space, is shaped like an airport runway. I worry about him. He perches dutifully at one end all day, but I never see anything in the web, and don’t understand how an insect could get in through the screen or, on the other side, through a closed window. I took to opening the window so, should he be a prisoner, he could escape and build his web elsewhere. But he remains. Perhaps he is a pure artist spider, happy to contemplate the perfection of a web never put to its intended use. 

I can attest to the continued necessity of boiling the water. Forgetfully I used faucet water for brushing my teeth, and got a memorable case of diarrhea. Had to run from rehearsal once, and wanted to a second time. People would not stop praying and asking about conditions at church so I could fly to the door and hence to my own bathroom. All Souls choir rehearsal revived in the First Baptist chapel. 

Return of AVLGMC rehearsals at R’s church in Arden. We talked about the efficacy of anything we might attempt in these troubled times, deciding to go through with nearly our original plans regardless. 

Made my first foray into the devastated River Arts District, discovering, to my joy, that Cheap Joe’s Art Supplies survived. That was the last good news. Bought stuff I didn’t need. The district is still a calamity, though it’s possible to walk about, and those venues which can be open, are. It’s not always easy to tell why some buildings stood, some collapsed, some vanished as though into thin air. Heavy piles of masonry stood a good chance in general, though what their interiors are like one doesn’t know. Ran into two former students, JS, taking in the atmosphere for his Ashvegas column. He has a three year old daughter. “I’m an old man,” he said, “I never expected to be a father, much less to be good at it.” Walked into the one studio that was open. One of the residents was AA, who took Humanities from me, twice, and remembered me as the best teacher she ever had. Every now and then the Spirit leads me into the paths of those willing to say what, at the moment, I need to hear. Their gallery survived by being the highest point on the river side of Depot Street, the water just lapping the top step. Miss A makes colorful portraits of animals. Her partner makes watercolors, and attributes their survival in their storage area (lower than the gallery) to her habit of waxing the finished product. The mud just brushes off. 

Drove home from Arden rehearsal through Biltmore, which is utterly dark, as though nothing on either side of the road still  exists.