Bubbles!

In the late nineties, when I was still new to New York City, someone told me about a book called “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. It’s basically a guidebook for creative people, to help ignite the creative fire, to awaken the muse. I picked up a copy and dove right in. My experience with one exercise, called “artist dates,” was especially meaningful and has stuck with me. The exercise challenges you to go out alone, open yourself up to your surroundings, and observe the world the way a child would—full of wonder and expectation. Nothing should be forced or constrained. You are encouraged to just be, the way we used to be before the world taught us we can no longer be that way. 

It was a beautiful sunny Saturday in June. The temperature was in the low 80s, perfect for my date. New York is fun just about any time of the year but early Summer, when it isn’t muggy, is truly impressive. The possibilities for a childlike adventure seemed limitless. I took the train to the city to find my special activity.

After wandering around for a few hours, I still hadn’t found the spark I was hoping for. I was looking for something simple, active, fun, maybe even a little amusing. I stepped into a bodega to get a cold drink when it caught my eye. I hadn’t seen one since I was a little kid. A bottle of Wonder Bubbles! I picked it up and stared at it for a moment. My imagination started to fidget. 

“Please, can I get it? Please, please, pretty please!” little me piped, looking up at grown up me. I grinned, I could hardly wait to get outside. I paid the clerk. “Let’s go!” I said back to little me. 

I don’t quite remember exactly where I was, but it was somewhere near the Brooklyn/Queens border. My plan was to walk through the streets and along the sidewalk, blowing bubbles, sometimes at people, sometimes into the air. The reactions were fascinating. 

When I blew bubbles at old people, I was surprised by their timid reaction. They were startled and confused, looking up to the sky as if to prepare themselves for something terrible. I felt bad, not realizing until that moment that cramped city living can have that eventual paranoid effect on people.

Some people reacted with complete annoyance. They couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense. Others cheered me on as if to say, “do your own thing, man!” Couples walking hand in hand smiled and whispered to one another. Did they know? 

One lady, as soon as she noticed me, started laughing happily and heartily. I could tell from her expression that she knew I was fooling around, hoping to get a reaction out of people.

 “I wondered to myself if you had a kid you were giving that to.” The lady called out as we passed on the sidewalk. 

“Nope, all for me!” I crowed, clutching my coveted bottle of fun. 

The cutest reaction was from a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old. She was playing by herself on a little balcony. She couldn’t see me but I could see her. I snuck under the balcony and blew some bubbles. When they floated up to her, she welcomed them merrily, “Bubbles!” The delightful inflection in her tone gave the impression that a good friend had just dropped by for some tea.

I got on a bus to get through a tricky roadway that wasn’t great for walking. I took a seat up front. I waited for just the right moment when people were settled and staring at nothing, then stealthily dipped the wand into the bottle and blew hard. The bubbles traveled all the way to the back of the bus! 

I then noticed a man had been watching me the whole time. I wouldn’t say he was a wiseguy, but he was definitely someone I wouldn’t mess with. He was wearing a dirty orange shirt stretched out over a beer belly, dark blue pants and well worn work boots. He was disheveled and looked tired, like he’d just got off work from his blue collar job. He made eye contact with me, tapped his finger to his temple and said in a serious tone, “Chips.” Tap, tap. “The chips in your head are no good.” Amused, I shrugged and grinned, “Not really, just looking for a reaction.” He nodded his head slowly while holding my gaze, then wagged his head and looked out the window. The bus driver got a kick out of that exchange. I thought it was cool that he didn’t scold me for blowing bubbles on his bus. 

I got off the bus and blew more bubbles into the street. A car stopped at a traffic light. A woman, probably late 30s or early 40s, was sitting on the passenger side looking forlorn out the window. When she noticed the bubbles, she rolled down her window and waved a cupped hand to try to draw some bubbles into the car. I blew more bubbles in her direction. She looked at me, expressionless, and didn’t say a word. It seemed she needed to have her own private moment of wonder.

Continuing on, now in a somewhat residential neighborhood in Brooklyn, I walked toward a “tough guy” who was sitting sideways on a stoop. He was grumbling to another guy who was standing a step above him, leaning on the handrail. The tough guy looked at me suspiciously as I wiggled my wand. I drew out my soapy weapon and bubbled him good! He shot up a classic Italian back hand wave. “Ey!” he said, clearly annoyed by my foolhardiness. He glared as if to say, “Keep moving, dumb ass.” Never breaking stride, I spun one-eighty to walk backwards to make sure he wasn’t about to chase me, then turned again and kept walking. A few moments later, I glanced back. The guy on the upper step was gone. The tough guy was still sitting there—catching bubbles. Thoroughly satisfied, I smiled and went along my merry way.

As I made my way home, the last reaction I got was from a guy who was driving by while I was walking along the sidewalk. I was cheerily blowing bubbles here and there. He stopped his car in the middle of the road and shouted, “Hey, aren’t you a little too old for that?” I stopped and studied the bottle, then pointed to the label and yawped, “It says right here, ‘ages 3 and up!’” He rocked and slapped the steering wheel, tossing his head back. Chuckling, he looked back at me, raised his eyebrows and nodded with approval. 

It was a perfect ending to my artist date adventure. I got home and jotted it all down in my journal. I would say my first artist date was a complete success.