creative bowling

I bowled an 18 once. I'm not that proud of it, except that I am because it takes talent to be that bad at something, right? It can only get better from there. My third year in college, the girls across the hall (well, they were really through the wall. We came up with all sorts of secret knocks, our own morse code of sorts, but those are stories for another time) and I joined a Wednesday night bowling league. Not to worry, I didn't preface our first team meeting with my score of 18. That story surfaced only after the first league game when I broke 100. I remained consistently inconsistent, but managed to make it all the way through the semester, proud to be a member of the team with the highest female bowler in the league. Way to go, Cappy!

It was at Wednesday night bowling league that I met David. (Well, we'll call him David for this story, anyway). I knew I had seen him before, that tall figure with a brown head of curly hair. However, he was out of context in a ball cap, jeans and bowling shoes. David and his team would often bowl in the lane next to ours, their ceremonial apple beer cap-popping for the first strike of the night a favorite ritual to anticipate. Once, he even let me do the honors. Oh, how I loved him. And not just for the way he could throw a curve ball.

This very same semester, my design boards and drafting pens took up residence a top a drafting desk on the third floor of the Brimhall building, south of campus. Being one of the younger bunch, I got the desk closest to the door, and not a window, where pigeons played on the roof below, making Provo seem "urban," believe it or not. I created my own little city, a design world around my desk, tacking up any and every source of inspiration. Leaves found on fall walks up to campus. Postcards of art deco Paris. Tear sheets from magazines. Articles saved from summers working with Paul. Just before my posterior was about to merge for eternity with the metal on the drafting stool, I'd stand up and take a walk to the north side of the studio to stretch my legs and peer at the pigeons. I'd wander past the illustration majors' desks and gaze into their cubicles, oohing and ahhing over their masterfully drawn characters, bold color combinations and fantasy worlds. I came upon one desk in particular full of artwork that completely captured me. It took me to another time and place, character's eyes drawing me into their fantasy world where giants feasted with fairies and mice sat upon elephant's tusks and whispered jokes into their enormous ears.

Stepping over to the dark side became somewhat of a ritual. It was a new sort of creative world for me, where crooked lines weren't frowned upon and scale was relative. Patterns could clash and hues could disagree. Not only were the reigns loosed, but imagination seemed to be set completely free, no grids on graph paper dictating wall's edges or how big or small a piece of furniture could be. I would leave that side of the studio and return to my desk, renewed and refreshed, ready to tackle a space planning assignment with a pocket full of fairy creativity dust and the gusto of a giant.

It was upon one such field trip expedition to my favorite illustrator's desk that I discovered familiar baseball cap. The blue bill was worn and faded, and it looked like it had logged an awful lot of Wednesday nights in a bowling alley. It sat upon the desk for a few days, un touched, but I knew it was his. Come Wednesday, there it was, atop his head. As if his curve ball curly hair combo wasn't enough, David was the one behind all the dream works, all the fantasy. He was the one who could take me to a new place and bring me back into my world of rulers and straight edges. Unfortunately, he didn't provide much help with my bowling game, but he was rather pleasant to watch, and a free apple beer now and again (providing I got a strike) was a nice perk. He never knew I took creativity breaks to his desk on a semi-regular basis. I think once I told him I was a visual arts major, too, but it didn't seem to register. I guess bowling was his creativity break. And I'm all in favor of those.