Husband
January 10, 2020
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One afternoon exactly one year ago in London, I met a man who changed my life. He was on the Millennium Bridge clad in construction clothes tinkering at something on the floor. Like everyone else, I walked past without a second thought in a rush to visit the Tate Modern after a media briefing in the city several blocks away. I was on a mission to sit in awe with Rothko’s Seagram Murals hoping to feel their power and be moved by “pure emotion” like the documentaries proclaim.
The Millennium Bridge is, without a doubt, my favorite spot in all of London. It connects the City to Southwark and Saint Paul’s Cathedral to the Tate Modern – a literal and proverbial bridge between old and new. Perched high above the river as if on wings, it’s one of the few places in the city where you can stand in stillness and feel the expanse of the sky and river around you.
Halfway across the bridge, I noticed a small boy taking a photograph of something on the floor. Curious, I took a closer look and chuckled with surprise. Tiny painted drawings littered the pathway barely noticeable to the hurried pedestrians just passing through. I made a beeline back to the construction worker to confirm my hunch that he’d had something to do with my glee.
His name is Ben Wilson, also known as The Chewing Gum Man. His was a face glowing with joy – the kind of joy I notice on people with strong faith, with inspired passion or on people having just returned from a marvelous holiday. The look of contentment and peace in his eyes shook me with envy and enamored me to his cause. I wanted to know everything about him.
We sat together awhile as I peppered him with questions. Ben creates chewing gum art and he’d been painting miniature scenes on the Millennium Bridge almost daily for the past five months. More specifically, he painted scenes based on passersby’s stories of love, reunion, family and friendship. Art, he said, is the great connector. It enables us to feel connected to something other than ourselves and instantly destroys barriers. And with chewing gum as a canvas, he feels his art is accessible to everyone.
He said that when people feel disconnected with the world, they hurt others. They don’t realize that they’re hurting people. When you’re truly connected to something, you love it. You love it for all its imperfections and faults. He talked about his studio, his humble home, and how he split his time between his art and family. A man of little means, he seemed completely content with the process of making art just for art’s sake. His passion, zest for life and openness to connect with me, a complete stranger, for what felt like the whole afternoon planted a seed inside me that has never gone away.
I’ve been thinking about Ben a lot lately. Our encounter forced me to think hard about purpose, connectedness and the impact we can make on each other and our world. Anything done with love, authenticity and empathy has the power to break barriers and change lives. I’m being very purposeful about what I spend my time on these days and how I do it. Intention and the desire to touch others has been a driving force in my motivations as of late. It’s the kind of clarity and motivation that makes me hopeful about the year ahead.
Happy new year! May 2015 be filled with love, art and bolts of wisdom like Ben Wilson and the Millennium Bridge.
I read recently that “Danny Glover dedicates every performance to someone – it might be Nelson Mandela or the old man who guards the stage door – but he is always working for someone other than himself. This focus gives his acting purpose and makes his work rich.”
Struggling to get through my own daily art project, I decided to try this for myself. Instead of drawing something random each day, I’m finding inspiration by dedicating each piece to someone specific. I’m amazed at what a difference this act of giving has made in my energy levels and in the type of work I’ve produced. The drawings look and feel completely authentic to who I am and what I was trying to express in that moment. I’m less judgmental of myself and what is produced because there’s meaning behind the piece – something bigger and more important than mere composition or color or balance (I’m never technical about these things anyway but am constantly bombarded with feelings of inadequacy every step of the way). The act of dedicating something to someone outside myself quiets the ego and infuses joy into every minute of the process.
Today’s project is dedicated to my friend Andrea, whose big dreams, humor and constant friendship transcend the miles and oceans between us. 🙂
