Once upon a time there was a land between two valleys. A village sat at its center, isolated, but peaceful and happy. Its people had tools of harmony rather than tools of war. On every street was a great painter, a great writer, a great musician. Being such a peaceful village, they were completely unprepared when disaster struck.
It came slowly, they didn’t notice it at first. A hairline on the ground. Then it began to crack. The earth opened, splitting the town in half. Each day the crack grew wider until they could no longer cross it. And still it grew, separating mother from daughter, friend from friend.
Near the crack lived a funny old man with a thick beard and even thicker glasses. The man never spoke to anyone, but the people liked him because he always smiled and played beautiful music. But when the great divide began, and people stopped listening to his music, he stopped smiling.
One day, to everyone’s amazement, he took his guitar and calmly stepped into the ravine. Down the earth he went, sliding past dirt and rock. The ravine narrowed as he went, and by and by it narrowed enough so that when he stuck out his foot, he stopped falling, suspended between the two cliff faces.
Then he began to strum. His fingers danced across the frets, playing a melody like none had ever heard before. His smile slowly returned as music filled the air. Beats drifted down into the earth echoing through the cavernous trench.
There was a moan from deep beneath him as his soothing song progressed, and the walls began to move. With each note they came closer, until finally the music stopped and the ravine had closed. The people always said the crack left behind looked like a smile.
The 360 West Project 