I was listening to John Wayne Gacy by Sufjan Stevens with a friend and she was saying something to the effect of how the lyrics were just too depressing, especially in juxtaposition to that really beautiful and haunting melody. I was thinking about how that was the whole point, how that melody brought some humanity to the darkness, and how we’ll never figure out the dark in us as long as its confined to the realm of what’s inhuman.
I mentioned in my hilight list that I went to the MOMA. I envy New Yorker’s access to such a treasure. I was down right blown away by De Kooning and Pollack. The De Kooning drawings seemed so deliberate and careless all at the same time, nothing finished and still everything was there. I’m not sure I even have words for Pollack, but I kept thinking about how great performers leave it all on the stage, and with Pollack it felt like he left it all on the canvas. Powerful, powerful stuff. It also had this wonderful balance of head and heart that was so, so moving. And while not a huge Picasso fan, Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, was amazing. Really, I’ve never seen something so perfect in planning and execution.
Plus we kept running into these class tours led by these super cute women, who, from what I overheard, were saying all sorts of smart and engaging things. And I kept thinking how I would just fall in love with art if they were teaching my 7th grade art class. By comparison my 7th grade art teacher seemed to be doing time behind the desk. Wasn’t til I got in highschool that I got a real art teacher.
Compared to the MOMA most of the New Museum collection seemed like a joke. And I’m not just talking about throwing down some of these young guys (and by the way where are the women in art) with Pollack, I’m talking about judging them against the MOMA’s collection of self taught and outsider art. By and large the New Museum’s collection reminded me of a New York review of Books critique of Jonathan Lethem, which said something like Lethem needed to remember that the number of times he’d seen Star wars was not profound and that Lethem and a number of his contemporaries are caught up in the minutiae of their coming of age stories but unable to make it meaningful beyond nostalgia. I left the New Museum thinking good lord we’ve raised a generation of narcissists.
Back from a too short trip to New York. Some of the highlights were:
I met this girl a while back who I like a lot, but it’s complicated and she lives on the other side of the country. I’m not saying anything more than that. There’s nothing to tell here, really, just wishing I wasn’t so dang far away.
A warning that this not been real well thought through, but I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve been searching for so long for some place or someone that feels like home, and lately I’ve been getting the message that maybe I need to re-group the search party and start trying to find that sense of home inside myself. I think some people and some places are gonna be more right than others, but I think what I’m looking for ain’t out there. I’ve been feeling sad about this for a while, until right now, and right now I can see a little freedom in that endeavor.
I’ve got a pretty sexy dance mix I’d be willing to post to a hidden page if anyone is interested in getting down on the dance floor. Put your request in the comments with your email and I’ll send you the link.
A couple months ago I kinda stopped watching TV. It’d become like a drug, really. And life’s been interesting since I gave up on the regular dose. (Interesting is not really the best word, but I don’t wanna loose my train of thought by tripping up on vocabulary right now.) Something inside me feels hollowed out and at times big and at other times uncomfortably exposed. I find myself struggling with the urge to fill it up quick, then shut the lid. Usually the first thing I’d do is reach for something to eat, but I’ve been bringing a lot more attention to eating (food and hunger and habits) and while not super rigorous, I’ve become a more mindful eater. Food as a filler is not a workable option. Actually, I’m trying not to derive filling from anything, and not just the usual suspects, like window shopping or doodling, but also reading, going to the movies, and hanging out with friends just cause I’m lonely. Emptying things out has sure has helped me connect things that I’d never seen as having bearing on each other and that’s been been pretty revealing. But there’s a starkness to some of my days and I’ve not slept well for a number of weeks. Something in me feels restless and like it needs soothing. Even typing that is getting to a tender place I didn’t even know I had.
In my ears and getting under skin this week: Wilco’s Hate It here, Hercules and Love Affair’s Time Will Tell and Sera Cahoone’s Only as the Day is Long.
Gosh it feels like the last 3 months have been so intense and it feels kinda odd not to have much in the way of big external markers for what’s happening on the inside. I have lost about 20 pounds, but hardly anyone notices. It’s mostly been about music, art, writing, reflection and opening up to new connections, specifically with these three women who are themselves very loosely connected to each other. While the connections differ in intensity, from casual to what has the potential for pretty dang intense, they have these commonalities – imagination, creativity, brains, illness and sex. And lots of words. Sometimes, really, really great words. (Just to clear things up I’m not having sex with all three of them.) I don’t believe the universe is trying to tell me something here, but I still find the coincidences interesting, something to reflect on a little.
All I do is ride my bike back and forth to wherever I’m going, no more than 6 miles at a stretch, but sometimes something in all this feels kinda epic.