As I'm sitting in front of my computer, trying hard to think of an interesting topic to explore for the "write about anything", open-ended assignment, I find myself drawing a blank, not allowing myself to draw a random topic without shooting it down, criticizing it, categorizing it as stupid thing to write about for an art class. So, as sifting through potential topics in my head doesn't seem to be working out too well, I will simply write about what is around me, using the little things in my cramped dorm room for inspiration. Directly in front of me, taped up against the shelves on my desk is perhaps my favorite detail in the shared room. There lies a long panoramic photograph, about two feet in length, an inch in height, capturing a pulled back view of the entire Venice boardwalk, taken some time in the 90’s by a friend of my dad’s. This photograph, in a sense, encompasses my whole childhood and life back home. My house is situated on a small walk-street off of the boardwalk, so naturally, the long, dirty, chaotic attraction was a backdrop to my home-life for years. With its many street vendors, artists, drum-circle attendees, crack-heads, gypsy travelers, skaters, surfers, and yuppies alike, the boardwalk has been, and will continue to be, a mixture of a vibrant cultures, and a home for the derelicts in society, without which, it would lose much of its authenticity, and raw identity as a place. This strip of concrete hasn’t changed much over the years. Slightly more gentrified…maybe, same characters…always. In an sense, the boardwalk is, as cliché as it may sound, a living piece of art, never quite finished, and always slightly confusing…a true intersection between art and life.
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