Last night, I attended a gathering with friends at a ranch fifteen miles north of the northern fringe of Tucson, near the small town of Oracle. The party was to honor those who created this event in September. Of course, I was along, not as a participant, but a mooch––which nobody seemed to mind. There was a band. There was food. Some of the art installations were still up and lit. And the sky at 4,300 feet was vivid.
The sheer number of arts events in Tucson is staggering. I have taken in three in the past few days, and there were hundreds I missed. The place has energy. The art tends to be whimsical, often humorous. Some of it has lasting merit, some was only intended to temporary enjoyment. You encounter some absurdity, but less than you might imagine. This place collects talent, and not just artists.
What is most fun is the determination Tucsonites have to enjoy their city. You'd think they'd get used to the weather and not pass comment on it, but no, as we stood outside last night, people said "What a perfect night!" and just stood in awe. Never mind that it is about the fiftieth perfect night in a row.
Cultural events in Tucson are well-attended, even though there are so many that you'd think the crowds would thin.
Tucson is a very proud city, and in a very good way.