On Monday evening I went to see Feist in concert and I could go on for hours talking about how amazing her performance was. What struck me during her performance is how music can take you back to a time and a place and how music can define an emotion better than words even can. In past months, I've been obsessed with Metals, Feist's newest release, but when I got home from the show, I immersed myself in The Reminder, something I have not done in years. The Reminder transports me to a specific moment in my life partnered with very specific feelings.
For my contribution to Art for Art, I drew inspiration from Feist's track "The Park". Leslie Feist is a native Calgarian artist who has received international acclaim for her solo albums Let It Die, The Reminder and now with Metals. Feist is also an active member of Canadian indie rock band Broken Social Scene. Feist is typically known for her bittersweet vocals with sounds ranging from folk to indie rock to downright pop. Her track "The Park" possesses those same bittersweet vocals in a lament for love lost. Feist's lyrics call to mind a place occupied by a past love, a place that you visit often in your mind but seems forgotten by the hopeful other. It has become desolate and cold, but could you really expect anything contrary? Feist's voice rings deep with melancholy and yet I sense reconciliation with what is and what has been. There is no regret and perhaps all that remains is a lingering hope. Here it is, "The Park":
In response to "The Park", I wrote a short story, concentrating on a single partner of a relationship, the same way that Feist emphasizes the "you" in her song. The story is obviously part biographical, but you'll never know which parts.
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It is 2007 and she is eighteen years old. She is shy with those she does not know; she has little confidence in her opinions, her convictions and her voice; she is insecure. She often brings her hand to her mouth to hide a smile. She is loud with those she does know. She is acutely aware of her volume, regretfully so. She is sentimental, keeping everything, cataloguing everything else, and writing about what little is left. She is easily taken advantage of. She has wondered, or worried, on more than one occasion, about the possibility of never meeting anyone, of repulsing the human race. She cries when she is stressed, retreating to the far left corner of her closet, where her dresses hang low, to address the bigger issues. She has never been in love. She has never been called beautiful. She does not have a position on the possibility of fate or soul mates. She is bad with decisions. She thinks herself independent, but in fact, possesses very little of it. She buys impractical shoes and listens reluctantly to her mother. She doesn't like the potatoes touching the carrots and neither can be touching the meat; everything has its place. She is clever, in a hardworking bookish sense, but lacks common smarts, street smarts. She likes her eyes, but dislikes her nose. She dislikes confrontation. She doesn't yet know how to pose for a camera. She appreciates that actions speak louder than words but she values words regardless and chooses her own carefully. She likes to be alone, but with the alternative option of company only a room away.
It is 2007 and she is eighteen years old. She travels alone, a trip of worldly ambition that falls short. Her travels are defined by the literature she reads and the activities of the characters, not the activities of her own. She spends most time on a bench, beneath a tree, in a park. Soon after, she falls in love. She believes in fate and soul mates, and the one, her one. She develops a preference for holding hands. She orders from the menu so that they both might enjoy it. She changes her rate of breathing. She starts to sleep on her side. She recognizes her weaknesses and lets him make up for them. She fills in his gaps. She starts eating eggs not scrambled. She listens to music through one ear only. She drives with one hand on the wheel. She develops a fondness for silence. She learns to walk in step with him. She learns to walk, in the pouring rain, with an umbrella sheltering the both of them. She learns to never walk out. She learns to view museums at a particular speed. She learns patience, compassion, sincerity, gratitude. She learns to endure. She learns a place, a city, and what it means to love in a metropolis. She is called beautiful. She laughs, uninhibited. She feels the cobblestones as she runs to meet him. She finds another park, another bench, and a partner. She makes deals with God and befriends sacrifice. She knows incredible happiness. She knows devastating sadness. She does all this without realizing. It is a learning curve she doesn't even realize she's on.
It is 2011 and she is twenty-two years old. She can stand in front of a person and tell them what she wants. She can stand before a boy, perhaps still avoiding a gaze, and tell him the selfish truth. She is beautiful. She can tell the difference between loneliness and being alone. She cries when she feels lonely. She no longer hides among the dresses. She smiles because she is alone. She learns to breath. She believes in surprises but not in sacrifices. She wears her hair long. She is no longer afraid of distance, but of the manipulation distance can muster. She recognizes the difference between friends and friends worth keeping. She understands that some cannot find the words even after actions fall short. She listens to her mother. She is never taken advantage of. She is ambitious but being shy keeps her humble. She is still working on her independence. She is sentimental but not in a recessive sense. She remembers a place, a city, and what it once meant to love there. She sleeps on her sides, her back, her stomach. She is undecided about soul mates and fate and the one. She acknowledges the warmth that comes with naiveté and reconciles with the cold that accompanies experience. She cannot deny being a pessimist. She is wiser than before and there's hope in that history. There's hope in the past and consequently in the future.
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For more on Feist, go to Arts&Crafts or her own website. For more on me (how vain) check out the contributors page.
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