Where is Art?

I've never called myself an "artsy" type.  I don't "do" art.  Mostly because I don't "get" art.  I see a painting (which is what I think of when I think of art), and I get bored.  I understand the talent that goes into painting, and the tenacity it takes to finish it, but I don't "get" it.  One starts to look the another, and before I know it, I've checked out and I find myself on facebook catching up on the latest eCard going around. 

But then I did something uncomfortable, and I found art. 

One of my besties was performing with his brother at an art show in Sugarhouse.  The two of them play guitar, and they play well, and there was a bunch of other things going on at the same show.  An improv thing, a kid I went to High School with was also playing guitar, and 2 slam poets.  I was nervous to go, because it was a small venue, the kind where you can't just blend in, but I wanted to support said bestie, because that's what besties do.  So I went.

The guitar and beatboxing thing I walked in on immediately made me happy.  It was great music with a quirky twist, two things I love.  Then some improv, which is always a good time.  Then the bestie and bro and their guitars singing a song that contained the lyrics "It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again".  You know, romantic stuff.  I sang along to their Simon and Garfunkel cover, and then there was intermission.

Then it happened.  My first experience with slam poetry.  I had this image of poets looking wistfully up into the proverbial sky whilst spewing forth romantic soliloquies of lovers gone by. 

Holy crap was I wrong.  This guy was offensive, and disgusting, and foul and said exactly what I was thinking!!!  It was like his words were pulled from my brain and fell from his mouth in a way only he could express because I am too timid.  Yes, I said it, I am too timid.  Don't get me wrong, he wasn't only offensive and disgusting and foul, he was also hilarious and genuine.  But I haven't been moved by words like that since, well, ever. 

This was a Friday night.  By Monday I was still thinking about it.  Tuesday I was looking it up online.  Wednesday I made plans to attend another poetry slam, and Monday I stayed out way too late on a work night because I couldn't tear myself away from hearing what they had to say. 

I guess that's what art is supposed to do.  Move your soul.  Resonate in you until you want it to be part of you.  Art makes you think  Art makes you uncomfortable.  Art shows outwardly what you can only feel inwardly. 

And I found it.