A local TSA agent looked at my ID and said, “Warren Epstein? Like the movie critic?”
I smiled. It had been a while since I had reviewed movies or worked as entertainment editor for The Gazette. I half expected the guy to pick a fight over my review of 2001's Lord of the Rings.
He didn't, but it was flattering to be called to order, and not like my buddy (and former Gazette editor Bill Vogrin), who often teases me by saying, “Weren't you Warren Epstein?”
He's a funny guy. I could do without the pride that comes with local celebrity. But I miss the contact with the Gazette's readers, even when it's just a call to complain about a review.
Since starting at the Gazette, I have worked in marketing, including at the Fine Arts Center before it joined Colorado College (more on that in a future column), helped rename the Business of Art Center to the Manitou Art Center, and helped promote the Rocky Mountain Women's Film Festival. I have been involved in an entertainment radio show, done a number of freelance jobs, and recently retired as director of communications at Pikes Peak State College.
Retirement. I had dreams of beaches and pina coladas. But those dreams don’t match my reality. My mind is racing to the rhythm of New York, so I’ll spend 15 minutes at the beach before bugging my wife about what we’re going to do next.
I was in that in-between space, writing and acting in plays and freelancing for some local publications, when the Gazette's editor, Vince Bzdek, called to suggest I write an arts column for him.
I don’t think I’ll ever work a 9-to-5 job again, if I can avoid it. But writing a monthly arts column? It seemed like fun. More than fun, it seemed like the perfect way to get back into something I really care about.
For me, the arts have always been more than just entertainment. A professor I met once made an analogy that stuck with me. He compared the arts to the communication of birds in flight, like geese flying in a chevron formation. How they keep the right distance from each other, and know when to change direction and come back to the back of the V and vice versa. Thousands of subtle movements of their beaks, their wing feathers, their talons. In many ways, they all say the same thing: I am here. I am here. I am here.
The way we dance. What we paint. The worlds we create on our stages. They tell other humans where we are, right now. And right now. And right now. And in doing so, we show people that they are not alone.
The joy and responsibility of an artist, in whatever medium, to communicate beautifully and authentically who they are, what they see, what they fear and what they love, can be both liberating and intimidating. They expose themselves.
This column will pay tribute to those courageous acts. My life since The Gazette, working on the other side of the curtain, observing and participating in the making of artistic sausages, has given me a broader perspective.
I hope that a broader perspective will help me share my insights about our local and global arts, where they have been, where they are now and where they are going.
It’s a bit of an ambitious goal, I know. But as I move forward in this new phase of my life, I’ve become more aware of the wind blowing in my face, the forces that are changing my position in the world, that are making my feathers ruffle, and more than ever, I hear the calls of artists: I am here.
I am grateful to The Gazette for providing me with this new flight of fancy and a new way to connect with this incredibly talented community that has always kept me aloft.
