Okay, so it was technically not a still life. It was more of a mural really but let's not get caught up in the details. As you might (or might not have) noticed I took a blogging vacation, or a vacation from blogging, and now I'm back, sort of, kind of. Still in a funk but I think I'm emerging. And so there I was on Rue du Rhone, near Confederation and there he sat as the world went around him and by him. Unperturbed and focused, still within the hubbub.
The artist, sitting on the sidewalk, transforming it. On a hot day when the asphalt was burning to the touch, shimmering in the sun, he sat in a verdant meadow full of wildflowers and placid cows and weird woodland creatures. Spectators stood on the sides of the taped off sidewalk-canvas. A tram went by, then two. Shoppers passed him by, shoppers from everywhere. Loose-jawed American accents mingled with languages others didn't understand. Arabic, Tamil, Hindi, French, Italian, and German simmered together under the sun.
And the artist never looked up, even when someone dropped coins, plink by plink, into his metal bowl. Not even when the soft rustle of paper bills joined the coins. He painstakingly painted a white flower, then added some more blades of grass, added a spray of pink flowers to a tree.
The world goes on as it does. The one who creates...does.