"Man on Wire" | Philippe Petit
The object of his dream didn’t exist yet. Petit’s life, his passion that took him into the expanse of air along the Notre Dame and Sydney Bridge, made the comfort of my bed feel like a cloud taking me to my creative feat. It didn’t matter that my bed was the furthest thing from a cloud, my creative feats confidently floated in my mind, ready to manifest as Philippe manifested his.
His art form existed along a cable wire at heights in the thousands of feet. With the grace of a dancer, balanced within nature’s unpredictable elements, calm in the face of death, Petit performed in the air. His audience had to crane their necks, his form the size of a thimble to the eye, but it didn’t matter because even the speck sparked inspiration all along the streets of Paris, New York, and Sydney. The Twin Towers were his greatest goal, reading of them years before they’d been built, then two years of scoping out entry and transport of gear, collaboration and determination to continue even when those close collaborators (thoughtfully) shared concern.
What level of belief required for such a great feat. The commitment to knowing the elements as close to the New York sky as the Parisian fields could imitate. Over the course of years there was practice on the wire, plans over 3D models, translations between solely English-speaking Americans and French compatriots. All of this because a drive to live out a passion.
“If I die, what a beautiful death? To die in the exercise of your passion?”
I can’t say that I want my art to put me at high risk of death as Petit was able to ask and accept, but I certainly want to exercise my passion before I die. I want words written, spaces designed, and hopefully lives touched, even if I never see the effect or know recognition. I want to simply feel the creation of passion currently sitting in the clouds of my head. You know, head in the clouds kinda thing.
[Book of Delights pg. 64 | No. 19 The Irrepressible: The Gratitudes]