Here is a story about records that's not really about records. It's about love, life, learning, and living. It's a story about change and growth, as well as an identifying with something meaningful and true.
“Records obligate a different kind of attention. There’s nothing random about them. They wear out. They’re too fragile to be played without listeners.”
Too fragile? Exactly. Why play a record to an empty room? It'll wear out quicker. It's not a digital file that will last forever.
So what's your record? What's too fragile to be wasted on empty rooms or uncaring audiences? What do you do that shouldn't be wasted or used on those who don't or won't care?
Of course, you're not always sure who will pay attention, so you may need to perform, draw, dance, or create anyway. But, if you can recognize when someone or some group isn't listening, stop playing. Your work is too important. Your talent is too good. Your art is too fragile.
Save it up for those who will listen. Like the message carefully marked on an old typewriter from one lover to another. Like the sculpture crafted by hand telling an achy story. Like the painting of a scientist presented in a softer light. Like the spoken word poetry that reveals soulful memories. Like the piano concert in the lobby. These moments are fragile. If you're an artist, don't waste them.
And if you're an audience - and I bet you're always an audience - listen. Art - especially fragile art - will sneak up on you.