Kelley: If only Spring into the Arts lasted all week

I could only visit Spring into the Arts for a little more than an hour, but that's all I needed.

6:47 p.m.: There's sawdust in the air as the Starving Carvist works on a log. I've never thought the words "chainsaw" and "delicate" would ever go together until watching the way he touches the machine to wood.

The carver is set up near the State Street parking lot, in view of outdoor diners at Griffin Grill & Pub. I never noticed before, but there are a couple stone tables with chess boards engraved on them. It looks like someone started a game of his or her own making, using pinecones and woodchips.

6:54 p.m. I was worried I'd miss author Bonnie Jo Campbell, who was supposed to be at Battle Creek Books until 7 p.m. She's still talking to customers, at a table in the back. Enquirer columnist and storytelling superstar Nicole L.V. Mullis is there, too.

Campbell pulls out a map from Entertainment Weekly called "The United States of Books.” Her novel "Once Upon a River" was picked as best representing the spirit of Michigan — a bold choice, and a good one. These kinds of lists tend to choose "cars" as what our state is all about. "Once Upon a River" takes place in Southwest Michigan, along the Kalamazoo River.

Nicole and I go over the rest of the map. Campbell points out "TheYearling" in Florida as a book she could never read, because she doesn't want to cry.

Which is ironic, because I have used the phrase "punch to the gut" to describe Campbell's writing. But, you know, in a good way.

I chat with Nicole. I overhear Campbell recommend adventures to a burgeoning writer. I get my book signed. My co-worker Bob Warner comes in and reminds Campbell of when they worked at the Kalamazoo Gazette together and it leads to talk of newspapers.

I'm glad Bob is there and enjoying himself. He had a tough day, as the hearing for shooting suspect Jason Dalton became increasingly upsetting.

Finally, Campbell looks at her watch and is surprised to find it is 7:20 p.m. I move on.

7:22 p.m.: There are at least five mobile phones out, snapping pictures of "The Allure of Paper Couture" at Hall of Toys. Artist Sheila Jones has created models out of paper and paint, bigger than life and somewhat creating the illusion of movement.

My favorite has a dress that is made from individually cut flowers, glued together to make a dress.

There are kids everywhere, and I notice one future artist who has used markers to color his own forearms.

7:33 p.m. I write down "It's good, but kind of gross" in my notebook. Two days later, I will have absolutely no recollection what was supposed to be good and gross.

7:35 p.m. I stop for a minute to hear the last golden notes of a brass ensemble. Members of the Brass Band of Battle Creek are performing in the alley between Griffin and Greenstreet Marketing. They've replaced the chainsaw artist.

7:37 p.m. There's someone walking down the street with a frame covered in bubble wrap. It's the first art purchase I've noticed.

7:40 p.m. John Grap, former Enquirer photographer and current friend, is grabbing a bite to eat. The problem with knowing everyone in town is that they've all been stopping in to see his exhibit at Brownstone and he's too busy for dinner.

His wife, Linda, is there. She says it's interesting to watch people looking at the photographs, to see which ones they stop to study.

Across the aisle, one woman points out flowers. A man in a green jacket takes a picture of the artist statement with his phone.

Another former co-worker shows up to greet John, and there are more hugs.

I've noticed I'm not the only one getting hugs that night. People on the street are waving to each other, stopping to hug hello to those they know but didn't expect to see.

7:47 p.m. I'm running out of time, so I duck out of Brownstone and head to see glass artist Joe Takens.

He takes a tube of blue glass and heats it until it turns orange. There's a loud noise as a child drops something on the floor, but his hands don't waver. He slowly pulls the tube apart and it stretches like taffy. As soon as he removes it from the heat, it turns solid again, now a thin, straight line.

7:54 p.m. I think about the awkward silence of standing next to a stranger, staring at closed elevator doors. As soon as the doors open, though, the silence is broken. It's like ending up in another world, one that is a chaos of strollers and children.

I walk by a woman who says to the little boy she's holding, "Don't eat my coat, please."

The model trains chug around the track and I study the models. There are at least two hobo encampments, two car accidents, a fugitive on the run, one purple dinosaur and a lady on a bench who I think may be cognizant of the giants hovering over her. I was not able to spot the rumored nude sunbathers, however.

8:05 p.m. I cross Capital Avenue like a fish going upstream. It's nice but odd to have to fight through a crowd in a spot that is bare almost any other day of the week.

I spot Bob heading back to the parking lot and run to catch up with him. He points out a brown bird grabbing a piece of popcorn that's almost as big as its own head.

8:09 p.m. There's only a few people left in the lobby of Commerce Pointe, cups of wine still untouched.

In the newsroom, Travis Tekiele waits by the phone for calls from coaches. There's only the murmur of a sports game turned down low.

The TV we usually have on news channels has been turned off. Earlier in the day, it was playing scenes from the Dalton hearing. The newsroom was filled with the panicked cries of Tiana Carruthers. The aftermath of a great evil was described in detail.

We could use more art walks throughout the week. The art is nice, sure, but more than that, an hour when people walk through usually deserted streets. No expectations, but a willingness to be pleasantly surprised by their fellow human beings.

Contact Annie Kelley at 269-966-0675 or akelley@battlecreekenquirer.com. Follow her on Twitter: @AnnieKelleyBC