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Doddson Kooper-Boon doesn’t see himself as a hero, but he does consider himself a genius at a few things: he can collect junk and create bricolage sculpture, bum free coffee and live in his defunct car. He’s experienced at these tasks; he’s been an outsider for thirty years. People think he’s a misfit, no question, but they like the energetic omnipresence of the raconteur-about-town who spouts nonsense engagingly. A few of them worry about him, though.
What is his problem? Doddson Kooper-Boon doesn’t have one, until he finds a random object on a bench and decides it won’t work in his current project. This singular find initiates a direct confrontation with Boon’s long-held view that freedom to be creative is all he needs. Like it or not, apparently he needs substantive relationships, even with those who are considered mainstream, and they line up one by one, grab Boon by a reluctant ear, and drag him into a life review session that won’t quit. He’s game, he’s always game, but he’s getting too old for radical change. He likes to live in the present, something he’s always prided himself in being really accomplished at doing, but the past is a double bass and the future is a blaring trumpet. Boon likes people; he likes everybody, and he has to appreciate the people playing these instruments. They, too, are artists! It’s all about art.
However… Well, Boon is Boon, and though he thinks the suppression of eccentricity translates, always, as mediocrity, he dons his coping mechanisms, which are long on humor and short on propriety, and tries to conjure up a new mix for himself. He adds liberal doses of practical wisdom and bright ideas as they come along, and moves forward without too many threatening compromises. But how far can the rangy, fifty year-old Boon go on adrenalin and spontaneity? Boon isn’t lazy in mind, body or spirit and he doesn’t lack courage. What we wonder is this: does he know what he’s doing with the rest of his life? It’s a hard call to make, especially for Boon.
