Saturday, August 28, 2010 came and went like the watery tide lapping at the shore. The sounds of the waves and the unbelievable churning of the water activism that began June 15th that would be Design Interventions on Water. A tour of a dirty river over drinks and conversation, 5 weeks of lectures, idea making, and planning the next “Be” in, captivated our attention. Such a diverse crowd that 16 of us were, or are I should say, smart, talented, inventive, and driven to carve a path of awareness.
I had my own share of enlightenment in this workshop that came in the form of humor, anxiety and wanting. The humor for me is in our language, the superb and superfluous entanglement of our talks and our quiet pauses. The puns that came and went, the longer lines of lexicon bridging us closer to defining our cause, or further complexing us as we tried to attach our movement to some firmament. Hah, the liquid and solid, colliding and slipping aside of each other. An unwieldy lovers’ embrace, all of us and the entire world in a relationship with water. In a breath our past able to be washed away, a life of wastefulness cleansed. One flush, 1.5 gallons down the drain. My showers are shorter, and my teeth are clean but not at the cost of water waste. I used the language we learned to teach. To teach my family, my two young sons, an inordinate number of soccer players young and old, and those in my community that water conservation is a “Yes!”, not a “…maybe.”
The anxiety came from a plethora of ideas, concept, visual demonstrations, and a brilliant recant time after time of projects that took effect. Big ideas with simple messages fusing themselves to our group week after week. It was a lot. I have been a stay at home father for my kids and my wife for almost 10 years. I eschewed work opportunities to forge endless possibilities in domestic quality control in the Klevgard home. The anxious sweat of working with grownups to create, interact, and execute was daunting. Our group was a deep tunnel of creativity, with its endless stream of thought, attitude, and D. I. Y.
The wanting proved to be an odd discourse with myself. To be in a crowd of such monstrous ability and to lust for a language that was simple, directed and to the point. I talk myself in circles sometimes, a repetitive wave that sometimes forgets to listen. This summer I heard the voices, I saw the visions, I tasted the water, I got the religion. I believe in water. The want, or the thirst was apparent in me, but it was recognizable in all of us.
The two billion gallon man costume was brilliant. I remember handing some earphones to Rick hoping to give the soundtrack to an immeasurable dance that only he could choreograph. How naive. The sound was in his ears already, he didn’t need to hold the conch to his ear to get the beat. A whirling shaman leading a parade. I could feel Lisa Korpan’s ice message melting. I started handing out cards. More people began to hand out cards. I started to tie blue yarn onto people’s wrists. The watery message of our cause was sliding away. Thankfully the beach opened itself to us, and our march that was short, suddenly felt redeeming. The shiny water reflections of Julie Heyduk tickled us and we moved forward. The dancing shaman wiggled, and jiggled in way that only a Kool Aid man could know. A slip and slide, sand sculptures, more ice messages, and finally a baptismal closing photo to round up our day. Orchestrated by Rick and his brother Bill, we gathered and one by one and then stepped out of the photo with finally only the two billion gallon man remaining. “We’ll animate it in reverse!” he called out.
That’s exactly my sentiment as well. Let’s do it again, let’s do it everyday.Let’s animate it in reverse!!!
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