What do you want to be when you grow up?

This is a short story I wrote about my experience at the farmers market last summer 2013'

Flipping the Coin

After countless measurements, miscalculations, and stubbed fingers from hanging close to 300 works of art while climbing the epic mountain that is finals week at school; my body was beat. Walking across art department hallways, Molly our art technician stopped me on my way out of the building and invited me to bring some of my paintings to the Farmers Market in town. She explained that if I wanted to sell work, I would have to buy a permit and purchase a slot at the market. The deadline for all this paperwork would be before the end of the month, accumulated to close to a hundred dollars and time that I didn't have to spare. At the time, working two jobs and going to school, wouldn't it be crazy to try to pile more columns on my to-do list? But as some things do in life, this just fell into my lap, and my mind chewed it up like a piece of bubble gum until there was a game plan. My plan was to set up my easel on the street at the market, not to sell work; but to offer free street portraits. This by-passed through the loophole of having to file for permits or pay for any fees.  Portraits were a stage for me to indulge myself in my passion and take advantage of the opportunity for reciprocity. It didn't matter if I charged or not, especially when, I usually have to pay for models. I mentioned this to Molly a week later, she thought the idea rocked.

The Ski Run Farmers Market happened for five hours every week on Fridays through July, August and September. Friday afternoons were glorified family gatherings in the park with kids running around and people happily receiving fresh produce and vegetables from the local vendors in the fresh mountain air of South Lake Tahoe. I'd drive up in my little, almost impossible to navigate, Subaru stuffed with chairs, my umbrella, and my easel, usually parking next to the recycled climbing rope rug guy who drove the bright orange VW van. Always dressed in my afternoon disguise shrouded by my biggest hat and pair of sunglasses, I would slowly unpack all of my gear. I eventually became acquainted with many of the people who spent their afternoons at the market, often bartering back and forth for deals. It was just another interesting aspect of being independently employed, with my own intentions and no real purpose of being there other than to enjoy my time and anyone who would join me. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with the spirit of the Market.

On the first Friday, to my surprise, I didn't have a second to breathe. One person after the next, after the next, slipped into my chair for a portrait. Sitting there, perched up, my most common customers were kids, followed by strange wanderers and the occasional fellow vendor. Just before sitting down, adults would ask me astonished, “Free, what’s the catch?”. With every baffled question, I would just smile and respond, “There isn’t a catch, the value for me isn't the money but the time spent sharing art.” This usually stumped the adults who would wander questionably around my back as I drew their children, and they would even still wear expressions of deprecation as little Johnny and Mary-Sue ran off beaming with their very own portraits. For me, the smiles on their faces were all that was needed to satisfy the time put in.

Slowly I became bitter of the suspicious adults. They represented so much that I see wrong with society today. They had locked away the basic instincts of human relationships.  It was apparent when comparing them to the children who displayed blissful naivety. Something lived in the children that didn’t have all the experience the adults did living in a world revolving around money. In the best way the children were open to what I was offering them. Both attitudes had a lot to teach me while I sat at the market. Watching people act and considering why they are jaded with goals so rooted in money day in and day out that they never truly get a chance to enjoy what they’re up to. Or maybe rarely ask themselves if what they were doing is to anyone’s benefit, rather than just their own. All of these adults were conditioned; conditioned to the satisfaction of money, conditioned away from what it really means to enjoy life. Value is a very touchy subject for our society, money would lose all its power over people if they ever put it on a scale with real appreciation.

A particular experience at the market hit this reflection right on the head for me. When a sweet little girl sat in my chair one afternoon. The sun was beating down on us, and the breeze gently brushed her hair across her round adolescent cheeks. She was very silent as I told her, as I do everyone who sits in my chair, “Don’t forget to breathe and you can talk if you’d like. But please, if you could, choose one thing to look at and try to keep your eyes on it for the whole time. I’ll work as fast as I can, it shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes.” With a rare serenity, she was peacefully looking out across the road and as soon as I saw her eyes target an object, I began sketching. Most kids look nervous and I have to gently make sure they’re comfortable, but this little girl was all business. I began sketching the shape of her skull and combining the general measurements for the facial features, I closely study the eyes, which are usually directly across the center of the skull. I then payed close attention to what her unique eye shape really was, I’d say, “Alright I’m drawing your nose now.” Drawing contour lines with my eyes I would glide across the highlights of her nose. While watching her she gazed out continuously, with an intent that  passed right through her target and back into her own imagination. I stopped to wonder, “What could be passing through her mind?” As I was finishing the drawing up, I said to her, “Almost done”, still she doesn’t twitch even as I said this.

As I finish I ask, “What’s your name my dear?” She replied gently, “Ashley.” I write TO: ASHLEY FROM: HALEY on the bottom right and presented it to her. Her eyes lit up, she looked it over with a smile for a few seconds before she looked up at me and asked, “Do you want to be an artist when you grow up?” I was stumped looking at this precious angel sitting there for me; her life possibly had been based around that question for the past few months. She may be asking everyone, what do you want to be when you grow up? Or asking herself in the mirror, what does she want to be when she grows up? But here when she asked me, even if it had no major significance to her, I swear the smile that burst across my face should have been acceptable currency for a college education. She flipped the coin on me, she had exposed my truest emotions about art and the value of my life. I loved art, there was, indeed, a little girl inside of me who wanted to grow up to be an artist. This little girl Ashley recognized that truth. She had plastered across my face just what it meant to be sharing with her my work, that I was lucky enough to be doing what I loved and share it with other people. I’m not all grown up yet, nor have I fully accomplished what I am to achieve with my art, but Ashley had successfully rejuvenated a spirit in me that had been long undiscovered and discouraged. No one could completely discourage something that brought your life meaning, not even you can completely take that from yourself. The truth will set you free.