We parked our car in a grassy field and followed the crowd toward the woods. Along a dirt trail was a long row of unlit twinkle lights. I could hear a distant hum of commotion as we walked deeper and deeper into the forest.
As we continued down the path, the sound of music drifted through the trees–a lone, melodic female voice singing an opera aria. We didn’t rush straight to the source; instead, we wandered through clusters of makeshift booths and art installations wound through the woods. Clothes hung from temporary displays, pottery rested on tables, and a tiny fairy garden nestled at the base of a tree trunk.
Closer to the stage sat a massive, glowing glass orb. It was a breathtaking sight enhanced by the haunting opera echoing around us. We finally reached the stage adorned with colorful painted decorations. A young woman stood singing at the center, filling the woods with a rich, vibrating sound.
Art was scattered everywhere. Strands of twinkle lights and metallic fabric caught the sunlight, dangling alongside wood frames and faux-floral arrangements. In one spot, branches were twisted into a round, window-like opening through a wall of vines. A glimpse of colorful art inside invited us to round the corner and step across the threshold.
Further along in the woods was an "Interdimensional Post Office," complete with a smiling woman behind a wooden stand reminiscent of Lucy’s psychiatric booth in Peanuts. She cheerfully offered postcards you could send to anyone, anywhere, or a bejeweled telephone meant for calls no ordinary phone could make.
There was even a WVPE booth with Garett the Great presiding. My Dad talked me up and introduced me, and they chatted about haiku and NPR and these very Chronicles.
A winding maze of vines led to a wooden platform with two wide rope swings, perfectly set up for a photo. Elsewhere, crochet afghans covered the forest floor, and cozy seating areas invited visitors to rest. My favorite was a massive, six-foot gold framed mirror set behind a bed of pillows and a quilt. Standing in front of it, you could capture your reflection framed by the surrounding forest–it was transcendent.
The soundtrack shifted throughout the day from opera to unfamiliar beats, some challenging, some beautiful, but all marvelous. The sound carried through the trees and into our bodies as our eyes drank in the color and talent of area artists. Children’s activities were everywhere, from ribbon-and-crystal wand making to painting stations. We stopped by a plastic playhouse transformed into Baba Yaga’s hut, complete with chicken legs at the base. I grabbed a sign reading "Unruly children will be sold to Baba Yaga" and had my teenager pose with it.
For lunch, we feasted on elevated taco truck fare and freshly made guacamole, followed by hot, sugary churros (a few of which were eaten off the ground, courtesy of our family's "Trash Panda Grandpa"). We ate sitting on fallen logs surrounded by nature, art, and new friends.
While some attendees wore casual clothes, most embraced the whimsical atmosphere. I wore a corset over a tank top with a full-length ballgown just because I could. I saw Crocs styled like fairy gardens, witch hats, bold makeup, and striking color combinations. Compliments flowed freely among people who finally had an excuse to dress exactly as they pleased.
My absolute favorite exhibit was a woman who decorated partial and full mannequins with literally everything; mirrors, flowers, gold buttons… If I had a few hundred dollars of disposable income, one of those magical pieces would be in my house today.
Do you ‘YART’? Did you know about this multi-sensory experience dressed as a music and art festival, or is it a secret you now share with us? The afternoon was a 10 out of 10 experience for me. I was exhausted and sated as I walked barefoot through the cool grass back to my car. I beg you to consider going next year: Google "YART South Bend," mark your calendar, and then just follow the dirt path with twinkle lights through the woods. You will feel deliciously bewildered, and very much alive.
(Producer’s note: In full disclosure, YART is a financial supporter of WVPE.)
