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Sunday, January 4th, 2009
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4:20p - Adventures in DC, Part II - Writers and Artists
One of the fascinating things about living in a big city is that there is a plethora of famous people passing through. While living here, I've managed to either see or meet several of them. Bizarrely, contrary to expectation in this city, none of them have been politicians. While most of them I planned on seeing, a couple were completely coincidental!
The first, and one of the most anticipated, was Neil Gaiman. We went to the National Book Festival, a annual event on the Mall established by former librarian Laura Bush. Along with lots of book exhibits, like a life-sized Magic School Bus (which I would have toured if I had time), the festival features talks by some of the most prominent and well-known authors in every genre imaginable. Neil Gaiman was speaking in the Young Adult category, but they also had Salman Rushdie, Brad Meltzer, Laura Bush herself, Daniel Pinkerton, and Jan Brett among the dozens of speakers. Quite a lineup! I had wanted to see Jan Brett speak, but we arrived in the middle of her talk, and the children's area had security galore for Laura Bush's earlier speech. Instead, realizing that I would like to buy Gaiman's Graveyard Book for him to sign – although we had brought 1602 as well – I sprinted to the book tent, near the other end of the Mall. I dodged people and leaped over puddles, attempting to avoid the muddiest patches from the rain earlier that day. Reaching the tent, I grabbed a copy of the Graveyard Book – available there before it was released to stores – as well as Jan Brett's new book for Mom's classroom and got in the long, winding line. Chris caught up to me, and after listening to Brad Meltzer speak, wanted to buy his new book as well. Lots of books! By the time I reached the checkout, it was only two minutes before Neil Gaiman's speech was to begin. So began the sprint all the way back to the Young Adult tent, where I started.
Huffing and puffing, Chris and I reached it just in time to grab a space near the back. I had to stand on my tiptoes at times, but I was able to see the stage for the most part. In his lilting, but softened, British accent (he's lived in America a long time), Gaiman talked about his recent travels to China, his creative process, and how he came up with the idea for the Graveyard Book. The best story he told was about how he was visiting an obscure archaeological site in China, the only tourist there, and there was a vendor selling all sorts of ridiculous junk. Thinking that Gaiman wasn't going to buy the junk, the vendor pulled out a small box. Although he spoke little English, he indicated that this was the most prized and valuable of the goods he was selling. And so he opened it to show Gaiman – a human elbow. It most likely was something he scrounged from the archaeological dig, and was obviously not supposed to have. Of course, Gaiman turned it down, but he wondered, what was the history of that bone? How did the man end up with it, and what would bring you the point where you were selling human remains to tourists? The fact that his work is driven by these sort of questions, and result in such fantastical and yet human answers is why I love his writing. After a bit, he read a chapter from the Graveyard Book, where the main character, Bod, asks his friend (who happens to be a dead poet) for advice. The poet goes on and on, giving absurdly florid, useless advice. It was a very good passage to read, because it didn't require much explanation, didn't give much away, and was very funny. He finished the presentation with a question and answer session. I actually came up with a good question about the difficulties of switching between artistic forms (like novels/comics/movies), but despite my jumping up and down, didn't get called on.
Just as he finished, Chris and I sprinted back to the other end of the Mall to get in line for the signing. We knew that loads of people had probably been in line for at least an hour or so, but so much as I wanted Gaiman's autograph, I wanted to see him read more. As it turned out, we were the last ones in the first signing line. They cut off each line after 200 people, and there ended up being four lines in all! I knew he always makes an effort to sign each and every person's book – like the Manics, one of the reasons I like him so much is his deep appreciation for his fans – so I felt very, very sorry for him. Especially because through his blog, I knew he had broke his thumb only a few days earlier. As we stood, and stood, we (mostly I) talked to the people around us. In front of us were two interesting pairs of people. Two were middle-aged guys, one of whom was getting the book for his daughter, who adored Neil Gaiman. Sadly, he knew nothing about him. The other pair were two college students, one of whom was actually a published fantasy author. They were both huge Gaiman fans and the author one had actually hung out with him at a convention. They were both very nice, but the author guy seemed a little batty. He reminded me a little of Matt Kent, actually. Telling lots of crazy stories, some of which have to be true and others not are, but it's impossible to tell which are which. He said he had gotten absolutely no sleep in the last several days, and wandered away at one point to find a bar. For all of his wild and crazy attitude, one thing really cracked his “cooler than thou” bubble for me. He described how he was going to get soooo drunk for his birthday, and was going to go to Union Jack's in Bethesda. Except I know that bar – a goofy, inaccurate ripoff of a British pub – is incredibly not cool. Behind us, there stood a Book Festival volunteer marking the end of the line. She was around our age, and worked as a contractor for the National Security Administration compiling news documents about potential security threats. Bizarrely, while discussing our jobs, the guy next to us engaged us in a very ranty conversation about how nobody respects the government and public services and everyone thinks we do a crappy job, and how if they knew about young people like us maybe it would change their mind, yadda, yadda, yadda. Playing a bit of devil's advocate, I tried to defend the attitudes of the general public, but eventually gave up and just let him rant. After that weird little interlude, I talked to the volunteer again and found out that she also lived in Parkside! I got her e-mail, and keep meaning to e-mail her. I really am going to, because she was pretty cool.
Finally, after two hours of waiting in line, we got to Neil Gaiman's little booth. Chris and I approached, I with the Graveyard Book, he with 1602, to get signed. In my head, I went over and over what I was going to say to him. I didn't want it to be like when I met John Cleese, and couldn't say anything intelligent at all. He made some comment about my name, and I stuttered an answer and that was it. This time, I was determined to make my five seconds worthwhile. At the table, Gaiman's assistant stuck a sticky note on the book indicating who to make it out to, and then we were talking to Neil himself! He was exactly how I imagined him to be – happy to be talking to us, although a little tired from signing. He said he was happy to meet us, and I told him that I used the scripts in the back of 1602 to teach myself how to write my graphic novel. I figured it was something unique to say, and he would be happy to hear that it benefited other writers. He was, and said he was glad it could be of help. Chris didn't really say anything, unfortunately. As Gaiman talked to us, he sketched in our books – a gravestone in mine, and a very swirly signature in Chris's. We smiled, said thank you again, and stepped out of the way. As it turned out, fantasy author boy returned from the bar in time, and gave Gaiman a copy of his book “for Maddie” (Gaiman's daughter). His cool exterior melted away as soon as he saw Gaiman, and he was thrilled that Gaiman remembered him.
Our second celebrity encounter was entirely unplanned. At 2 PM on September 30, the Odyssey Day alternative fueled vehicles event, which I planned most of, had just ended. The entire time, from 7 AM until 2 PM, I had been running around like an idiot, trying to keep everything moving and everyone happy. Because I had worked so hard leading up to and on the day (even skipping lunch when everyone else went out!), Linda told me to take the rest of the day off! Then, she told Chris to take me out and “make sure she has a good time.” As I was starving, we went to the closest restaurant we could think of, Vie de France. Over lunch, Chris told me what he had done all day while I was running the show – hanging out at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. Lucky bastard. Although he didn't want to go back that day, he thought I might want to see a huge mural outside the museum. Schoolchildren around the world created them, and they were being displayed to celebrate the opening of a new ocean hall. As that sounded cool to me, we took a detour on our way back to the Metro Stop.
Reading the introductory panel for the mural, I realized its significance. The entire thing was Wyland's100th mural! Wyland is an artist, who has dedicated himself to painting giant – often life-size – murals of whales and other marine life. To communicate his conservation message to as large of an audience as possible, he paints them on the sides of large buildings around the world. In my travels around the U.S., I've seen Wyland paintings in Alaska, California, Maine, and Florida. As I've loved marine mammals since I was little, I naturally became a fan. I even have a coffee table book of his paintings. Although there are other artists who do similar work, I always liked his focus on conservation and public education. So when I saw this set of murals was the culmination of his life-long project, it piqued my interest even more.
The mural – actually a set of connected panels – was huge, running down much of the main section of the Mall. Wyland had painted the backgrounds and large creatures on each canvas. Then, the students filled the open water with any fish or marine creature they could imagine. I even saw Spongebob and friends! But there was a sincerity to them that you don't usually see in group projects done by older kids. They very much reminded me of the huge mural of marine life we did at Karigon to decorate the cafeteria. I have this distinct visual memory of sitting at the cafeteria tables that constituted our art room, with the materials up on the stage. Working so hard to get that whale just right. Singing along with the Billy Joel tape River of Dreams with Lynzie and Tom. It's one of my best – and clearest - memories of elementary school, in fact.
Finally, we came to the end of the mural – and made a fantastic discovery. There, standing on a ladder in front of the very last panel, on camera, Wyland was signing his name in the top-left corner of the painting! He mostly looked as I expected him to – like an older, obviously laid-back but still passionate hippie, with paint-splattered coveralls. Of course. What other kind of person would go around painting whales on buildings? From what we could tell, he was finishing the very last piece of the mural on camera for a Smithsonian television/video special. We, along with only a few other people, stood and watched him sign the piece. A few minutes later, he climbed off of the ladder and came to mingle. A little boy had something for him to sign, but there appeared to be few other fans. So I just stepped up to him and said, “Thank you for your work. You've been a great inspiration.” He nodded, said thanks, and then said something that baffled me briefly. I can't recall his words, but I realized he thought I was part of the Smithsonian crew! And at that moment, I deeply wished I was. Despite not having that professional connection, I was very glad to just be able to say thanks. Much like with Neil Gaiman, and last year with the Manic Street Preachers, I found just saying thank you in person to be a very powerful thing. I know they must hear it constantly, but I know if I were them, I would be so happy that my work had a positive impact on someone's life. Because in communication, that's what it's all about. Talking means nothing is nobody listens, or worse still, if they listen and are unaffected. I wanted Wyland to know that he had inspired and influenced me. His paintings reinforced my belief in conservation, and more importantly, they illustrated the importance of art and communication in the environmental movement. Which directly influenced my own career path. I only hope that one day, my writing can have the effect on people that his painting has. He's shown me that you have to think big – really big.
---- Because this post is so long, I'm going to post the second part shortly, so I don't completely clog up people's friends lists.
current mood:  calm
current music: Commentary on football on TV (comment on this)
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