Walking down a street early one morning, thinking about art, I contemplated taking pictures with me wherever I went during the day so I could cut out the pictures to use in collages.

Something suddenly seemed to make me want to dance, but I didn't know at first what it was. Gradually I found myself twisting and dancing. Suddenly I realized someone was playing some fantastically beautiful jazz nearby.

I first looked toward the roof of the house next to me, then toward the roof of the house on the other side of the street, where some people were standing. A woman among them waved to me. I seemed to know her from somewhere.

The people began motioning to me and I motioned back as if I were taking a picture of them with a camera. I then pointed at myself and said, "Me?"

Somehow I knew they wanted me to go into the house beside me to bring someone out to take a picture.

After I walked up to the door and knocked, a woman in her late 20s came to the door. She was wearing a brown dress and carrying a large camera. At first I thought she was going to give me the camera to take a picture, but she just smiled as if to say "Thank you," and walked out into the street. I could tell she was getting ready to take a picture.

I then saw where the music had been coming from. About a half dozen men with very long hair were playing music in the small patio of the house across the street. Apparently they were practicing. Some other men (most of them around 30 years old) began gathering around me in the street. Most were carrying electric guitars.

I thought if I were taking a picture I would say something like, "One, two, there – smile" or something equally idiotic.

Someone made some type of motion and everyone started playing music at the same time. The notes were crystal clear. As the men walked around playing their guitars, they looked like masters of the art of guitar playing.

The idea of art possessed me. I thought the artists of the world were involved with a battle. Since so many artists abandoned their art, not many artists are left. I thought about my friend Donna (a classmate in law school). I thought she would understand the importance of the struggle which artists experienced.

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