I happened upon a street festival on my way into the city yesterday. I had allowed extra time for no reason at all, so I took a detour through the shaded tents along Davis Square. It was nearly 100 degrees, but people and their dogs were everywhere soaking up a welcome distraction from the heat. Redbones was the centerpiece, covering Elm Street in a BBQ haze. There was live music in every direction, and the listening crowds made a dance floor of the crosswalk. The parking lanes were filled with handmade soaps, plastic bottle sculptures, wooden percussion instruments, and punny T-shirts.
Most of the tents were occupied by artists. They plant themselves in the middle of their work while people glance through, munching on their cinnamon kettle corn, sometimes stopping, sometimes opting not to. The artists sit quietly with their pieces. The pieces are finished and over and bright against the white tent, and all the people regard the art. And the artists watch the people as they regard. And I see the artists as they watch.
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