Getting lost is usually a bad thing, especially when I'm driving with my wife in the passenger seat. But in certain situations I have to say getting lost can be the best antidote in a GPS obsessed world.  When I was a kid  I found and even invented ways to get lost so when it came time to navigate the halls of the Flat Iron Building during the Around the Coyote Fall Art festival, letting go of the GPS mindset and allowing myself to wander through the labyrinth of winding and narrow halls within the Flat Iron Building was actually the best way to soak up the thousands of pieces of emerging artwork.

Aside from the occasional peek at the festival program, I never knew what I was going to encounter around the next turn, stretch of hallway or living space of the artists in residence.  As my wife and I  made our way up the stairs and through the twisting hallways and along the creaking wooden floors, I remembered what it was like to explore the halls of the hotels I stayed at during family vacations growing up.  That childlike since of wonderment of being in a new and strange place returned and added a feeling of excitement to the art that covered the walls on my left and right.

As other festivalgoers passed by me in the halls, I remembered how my siblings and I ran through the halls soaking up the new surroundings around us. I remembered how I used to talk with strangers in the hotel lobbies as my parents checked in. I'd ask them why they were traveling and where they were from and what brought them here. So that’s how I traveled through the Flat Iron Building, just letting the simple childlike since of exploration guide me. Sometimes I gazed long and deep at portraits and other times I stopped for only a second, moving on to the next one.

  I was captivated by the pop art painting and collages of Chris Peldo who’s work re-contextualized many of the images and icons that flashed on TV screens during Saturday morning cartoons when I was a kid that I’ve stored away but have long since been forgotten. And when I ventured into the eccentric and shocking world of Jo Jo’s Closet—where the intricate craft of doll making collided with the sexual and gothic underworld—I was granted a perspective into a darker side of humanity that I often don’t experience.  The pain and anguish coming from the sculptures of Romanian artist Monica Balc was unsettling but yet completely irresistible.   Those and several other artists provided a contemplative moment of escape and a mirror into my own emotions that I was hoping for as I walked the narrow corridors.

Where the art was displayed was just as important as the art itself. I was constantly amazed at how the Flat Iron Building portion of the ATC festival provides a unique opportunity to see the art within the living space of the artists who created the work as each artist-in-residence opened up their lofts to complete strangers. Seeing the art displayed in this way made me think of how, as a writer, my words are for the most part the only tangible part of the writing process that usually leaves my office. And I’m not so sure how comfortable I would be letting  complete strangers walk in my office—which is usually sealed off with a closed door—freely read my work and then leave with out so much as a hello.

But before I left  Jo Jo's Closet I asked him about the back story of the dolls in his closet.

Jo Jo’s Closet has been an everyday fixture in the Wicker Park artists landscape which can be seen from the second story window of the Flat Iron Building as you pass by on North Ave. Jo Jo explained that his art is a creative expression and the result of having grown up under the wing of a creative and mentoring adult who was a part of the Andy Warhol Factory and who also had the unique opportunity to feather the first Big Bird costume. “By the time she was done,” Jo Jo explained, “She didn’t even want to see the finished Big Bird. Gluing every single feather on one at a time made her so sick of that damn bird but she still loved it.” He also told me to story of how obtained the horse teeth to the seven foot doll from an Indian reservation when he his Native American roots led him to attend a pow-wow.

There’s a lot to see and experience and since last year I’ve learned a lot about the art of navigating a large festival like ATC. The festival is three days long and is comprised of over 300 hundred artists spread out over several blocks in the Wicker Park and Buck Town neighborhoods as they displayed their works in photography, theatre, music, film, painting, literature. Last year I tried to do the impossible and see everything but this year I just let my mind go wherever the aesthetic muse took me and that’s where I found the most joy and pleasure and had the most fun as I escaped into a world that was nostalgic, challenging and a chance to refresh my creative juices by immersing myself in a blending of inspiring perspectives  and emmerging creative talent that isn't usually gathered in this way all that often.