Last night, I set up a booth at Ghouls Night on the Plaza, an evening when Oklahoma City’s Plaza District fills with artists, vendors, DJs, costumes, and an assortment of humans that would be difficult to assemble anywhere else in the state. Businesses opened their doors for special events, music spilled out across the neighborhood, and somewhere in the middle of it all, there was an actual clown fashion show. I’m not sure what more anyone could reasonably ask of a Friday night.
I had a wonderful evening selling my art. More than a dozen pieces found new homes, many with people who live right here in the neighborhood. There is something especially satisfying about knowing that something I made in my little home studio will now be hanging in another home just a few blocks away. But as much as I enjoyed selling the art, it was everything happening around my booth that made the night so memorable.
Being a vendor gave me a front-row seat to one of my favorite activities: watching people. Over the course of the evening, I saw cowboys, punks, parents, children, clowns, furries, roller-skating ladies, artists, and people representing just about every imaginable aesthetic and walk of life. There were folks who looked like they were headed to a rodeo, others who looked like they had just escaped a rave, and plenty who appeared to have wandered out of entirely different dimensions. Somehow, they had all ended up on the same few blocks of Oklahoma City, having a fantastic time.
And nobody seemed particularly concerned about anyone else’s differences.
Nobody was stopping strangers to ask about their politics, sexuality, religion, or ideology. Nobody needed to explain why they were dressed a certain way or who they loved or what they believed. People were dancing, shopping, laughing, admiring art, and enjoying a beautiful Oklahoma evening. They were simply sharing space, and that seemed to be more than enough.
Jettie, of course, was entirely in her element. She cartwheeled down the runway before the clown fashion show, danced to the DJs, and ran around wearing the same enormous smile I saw on kids of every age throughout the night. Watching her move so freely through this collection of colorful characters added another layer of joy to the evening for this Dada. She wasn’t witnessing some grand demonstration of tolerance or diversity. She was just having fun in her neighborhood, surrounded by people being themselves. And that, I think, is exactly how it should be.
I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about what makes a place feel like home. After participating in an art show centered on that very subject last weekend, I found myself reflecting on how much of that feeling comes from safety. Not simply the protection of walls and locks, but the security of knowing you can relax, lower your defenses, and be yourself without fear of judgment.
Last night reminded me that this feeling doesn’t have to stop at our front door.
A neighborhood can offer that same kind of security. It can create an environment where people feel comfortable expressing themselves, where differences become part of the scenery rather than something requiring explanation. And perhaps the most beautiful thing about that sort of community is how unremarkable it feels when you’re actually experiencing it. Nobody needs to announce that everyone belongs. They just do.
Oklahoma is changing, and I certainly don’t pretend that a few hours of music and costumes erase the divisions that exist throughout our state. There are still plenty of places where being different can make someone feel unwelcome. But there are also places showing us what community can look like when people are given room to be themselves, without making much of a fuss about it.
The Plaza District is one of those places. Oklahoma City has other wonderful neighborhoods where art and culture thrive, but I don’t know another that brings together quite this particular combination of creative diversity, eccentricity, and genuine community. It feels less like a neighborhood trying to establish an identity and more like one that has made room for everyone to bring their own.
I love that this is where Jettie is growing up. I love that the people buying my paintings are the same people I might pass while walking the dogs or grabbing a cup of coffee. I love that on a random Friday evening in October, I can sit behind a table covered in my art and watch a parade of humanity that includes both cowboys and furries, neither of whom seems particularly troubled by the other’s existence.
And I love that somewhere among them, my daughter is doing cartwheels.
I came home with fewer paintings, a little more money, and a tremendous appreciation for the strange, creative, welcoming collection of people who make up my neighborhood. The art sales were wonderful, but the real gift of the evening was getting to spend a few hours watching people enjoy the simple pleasure of being together.
I’ve written before about how home is where we feel safe enough to be ourselves. Last night, I got to watch an entire neighborhood do exactly that.
What a wonderful place to call home.