Camp Air, TX.
Close your eyes. Picture it.
The crisp sunshine beating down on the back of your neck. The gently rolling cotton ball clouds. The air so sweet and fresh and life-affirming the place had to, just had to be named after it.
Camp Air, TX.
They say you should never judge a book by its cover, but that’s not true. I mean, it’s true when it comes to people– you don’t get a job as a writer of snappy sayings without employing a little hyperbole from time to time– but it’s not true about books. At least it shouldn’t be.
Yes, it’s the stuff inside that counts– the soul of someone rather than their clothes… the content of a book rather than its shell– but if you’re going to try to make a living by way of your art you’d better do everything you possibly can to get someone to give it a look. There’s a lot of art in the world vying for what little attention is left out there, you know?
I’m not saying you should make a spectacle of yourself simply to draw eyeballs if it isn’t congruent with the soul of your art– I’m just saying you should consider every angle in which you’d like your art to be presented. The cover, the title, the package, the lighting– you can’t care exclusively about your art, you have to care about anything and everything that is around it.
It shouldn’t be like this, but it that’s the way it is.
Camp Air– what a beautiful sounding place. I’d check it out on the name alone.
I mean, it’s a little stage coach stop with a defunct general store and one house with a lot of goats roaming around it, all at the intersection of two country roads… And yes, it’s pretty even though there’s not much going on… But hey, the name certainly paints a picture in your mind if you’ve never been there, doesn’t it?
Camp Air, TX. Ahhhhhh…. Lovely.
time: 3:52 pm
date: Friday, May 30th
place: on the road, Camp Air, TX