Arcosanti

Trading a cool climate for entertainment and companionship, we headed South in the late afternoon for Arcosanti. Paulo Soleri, the architect, envisioned this place as a model of urban design. We arrived knowing only this, and that our friend Paul Sprawl would be performing in some sort of weekend festival.

Arcosanti, it turns out, is an artist's village and performance venue. Situated on one side of a canyon, its round, cement structures didn't jump out at me as especially exemplary of alternative urban design, though the shapes: huge arches and domes in every orientation, are compelling. The large room behind the stage reminded me of UC Santa Cruz. A hiking trail leads down into the gorge and back up on the other side, where the village appears more integrated as one conceptual manifestation. The living quarters are set down in the canyon, away from the amphitheater, studios and dining commons. A large swimming pool perches on the corner of the village, overlooking the dry arroyo, 150 feet below.

The "festival" was in fact a poetry slam, something I have heard of but had not seen. Paul Sprawl performed twice during the weekend, accompanied by Leralee, his fiancee, who danced wildly and beautifully to his music and sang harmony on a few songs. Paulo appeared throughout the weekend, his small, quiet form, crowned white, was distinct from all the young bustle of poets and attendees. As I watched the poet finalists perform, I realized this event is a revival of the stage. It opened up a world of word performance in my mind's eye. One of the most memorable poems (there were many) was entitled: The Peach is a Very Sexy Fruit. Before you think, "duh," it was the performance that made it memorable, and the hilarity of the poet's comparisons to all other fruits. The poets poured themselves into their performances; my body responded to them. Arm hair stood on end, a liquid sensation in my spine told me: this is real. this is vital.

The Saturday night ended with a fire performance a la the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. The wind was fierce the whole weekend, so the troupe performed under a grand archway. Paul, Leralee, Adam and I danced to recorded latin music afterward, gleeful under the stars, swept by the wind and everyone's energy.

I met Amaryllis in the kitchen where I did our dishes. I was shy to speak Spanish, but finally made an overture, "Habla usted Espanol?" even though I knew she did. I always fear that the person I speak to in Spanish will somehow be offended, but that has never actually happened. Amaryllis was very friendly, and ignored my rusty language skills, asking me questions, offering to scrub the frying pan that won't let go of it's eggs, telling me about her children. It was a small wonderful moment, that dishwashing hour.

As the festivities wound down on Sunday morning, the 4 of us went for a swim in the pool. Nothing like bathing in cold water in the desert to put a smile on your face. We played keep-away and other games for a long time. I was hopelessly outdone by everyone else, my swimming strength being beginner at best. Nevertheless, fun it was.

In stationary buildings with several rooms, people tend to congregate in rooms not meant for gathering: hallways, kitchen floors, bathroom doorways. On Sunday afternoon, I witnessed a new version of this: we congregated not in the van with seats and comfortable floors, but rather stood outside in the parking lot, talking and laughing in the sun for over an hour.

Paul and Leralee were headed to Prescott, where friends George and Susan live, and George's brother Dan hosts a radio show. We volunteered to drive Paul and Leralee to Prescott, and hang with them for a few days. We debated whether two extra people would put us over the edge with our dinky little engine, and decided it would not. We sent some stuff with George in his truck, and piled the rest into the van.