An imposter in the world of artistic content

I know I bang on about Stratford upon Avon and its role as an imposter in the world of artistic content but my walk in the sun yesterday proved it to me.

Ironic really. I was sat on a bench a stone’s throw from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Sat like an ocean liner. Neon lights flashing and nothing going on. Due to leave port that evening but for the moment just selling coffee and pamphlets.

It set me off. I had a dream.

I was gazing across the expansive (expensive) pavement that along with the dry fountain, a field, some very nice trees and of course the swans, and known as the Bancroft, thinking, what a lot of dead space.

Now, I have never been to Paris but have seen the pictures.
You know the ones I mean?

The photographs of Artists selling their wares.

I thought to myself wouldn’t that add some much-needed atmosphere? Wouldn’t that be interesting? If we did that.

You know…Painters selling their Art.

Maybe actually painting, drawing. Portraits on the go. While you wait.

Don’t get me wrong. I mean, if it’s your thing you could still indulge in the cramped and themeless LSD markets.  If you like being crammed into tight spaces and coming out smelling of street food, then fine. Carry on tatting.

I’m just thinking that a few artists and easels spread along that spacious and expensive pavement leading up to the Royal Shakespeare…on not-market-days…then why not?

Day time – evening even.  Imagine. As the Shakespearians head towards their evening worship?

Busking without music.

Then I woke up.

I remembered.

This is Stratford upon Avon.

Controlled.

Encased.

Fingers in pies.

Static.

Immovable.

Same old-Same old.

Dead-in-the-water.

Forever and ever.

Amen.