Freddy Forever

Good thing the piano  bench had casters. When May’s riff rips, Freddy jumps up and strides rhythmically to the mike. How did we get seats so close I can see him spit with diction? We’ve gone from opera to metal without a noticeable segue. Thank you Freddy for showing me that rock and roll can be an art form. It’s 1982. I’m fifteen, surrounded by adults holding up lighters and utterly mesmerized by the lead singer’s talent and passion.

If it weren’t for the movie, Bohemian Rhapsody, coming out this fall, the resurgence of Queen might not have reached me.  I wouldn’t be sitting by Painted Creek, watching snowflakes dissappear in a jade pool, reflecting on a concert I went to almost forty years ago.

Reflections; when you look at them, they seem genuine enough, but let some minute projectile land in their midst and they become ripples of reality instead. Art is a reflection. You have to take the time to stop, sit and silently observe or you’ll miss it. Can’t always be making ripples. 

Even though we’ve never seen eye to eye, I need to acknowledge my brother for taking me to so many cultural events. They shaped my psyche. He, my great aunt, my parents and finally, my “Theo”, Patrick, have enabled me to participate in the arts. Don’t know whether I should thank them or curse them. Making a living in the arts is a difficult path at times. In the end though, I wouldn’t trade it for all the pigment in china.

Words and Photo copyright by Mar Startari, 2019