NY, pt 5

“There’s no reason to sleep curled up and bent. It’s not comfortable. It’s not good for you and it doesn’t protect you from danger. If you’re worried about an attack you should stay awake or sleep lightly with limbs unfurled for action.”

Jenny Holzer, 1980

Photograph is “NudeAuguste Belloc, 1956

NY, pt 4

“…and that, my brother, is exactly what we can find in the Holy Book, when Matthew said…”

“…and we could be on Jerome and 128th right now if I chose not to listen to YOU, and I would have made it VERY fucking clear to her…”

“…learn that we are judged only by ourself, my brother, and that’s why I’m sure our holy sheperd has no problem with what is happening between the two of us, and when that day….”

“…and when I hear that fucking guy, it just fucking makes we want to blow up, ya know. It’s all these fucking people just bullshitting, it’s fucking killing me.”

“Look, buddy, either you fucking take it or leave it. I ain’t got no quips with Him. I hope you ain’t got no neither.”

“Fucking bullshit. Same all my life”

“People, do we have a HAT TAPIC here or what? Let’s talk about this shit right here and now!! What a HAT TOPIC!”

“Let’s move to the front, this is gonna get ugly.”

“Man fuck, you don’’t fucking get it. I respect your shit. But I’m fucking pissed for a fucking good reason right now. I COULD FUCK LUCIFER IS HIS GODDAMN ASS right now.”

“Look, I’m coming right down to you right, and you’re going to explain right in my face what”

“Guys, stop this bullshit, you’re scaring my little sister. Get back to your damn seat.”

“Let’s move back to the middle. This is too fucking funny.”

“The only damn God I could ever respect, is one that would condemn me right here and now.  No pussy stuff. No fucking forgiveness. That’s a fucking God I could believe in. Fuck my life. FUCKING FUCK LIFE!!!”

As on cue, the train screeches to a halt. Something is up. Outside is not the platform, but a tunnel bleakly lit by fluorescent light.

Everyone is quite for a full 3 minutes.

“Excuse me people, the F train in front of us just hit someone on the rails. It’s probably not a suicide, just an accident. Be aware that you will not have to walk through the tunnels, we’re gonna run the front of the train right to the edge of the platform, and you will be asked to move to the front of the train to get there. But please stay seated, I’ll come back when we’re good to go.”

“Fuck!”

“Is this a HAT TAPIC or what!!!”

“Don’t worry sis, it’s all gonna be alright.”

“Man, I’m gonna call 1-800-LAWYERZ first thing in the morning. And folks, do the same! Man, trauma on the A Local! Call your local! I’m suffering some major emotional damage. What a HAT TAPIC! Do you even realize how much money you can get for this? Call 1-800-LAWYERZ people, it’s your duty!”

“Ok people, we cannot get close enough to the platform to be safe. we’re going to hook up the front of this train with the back of the F. When called by the police, please proceed to the front of this train, continue to the back of the F train. Listen to the police officers, don’t stop to look around on anything, it’s all going ot be allright.”

“Man, can you believe this shit? They’re not going to hesitate at 1-8000-LAWYERS. Serious people, do the same at me. At least get some money out of this shit. Smile folds, I’m taking a picture as evidence! Man, wadda HAT TAPIC!!!!”

It took us more or less 3 hours to go from Manhattan to Bedsty, Brooklyn. I had the time of my life.

NY, pt 3

Hey lovely New York people, it’s a wonderful day here in the city, temperature is a good 45, plenty of shine and very clear. You’re on the L train, heading into Manhattan really soon now. It’s so beautiful outside, lots of sun, lots of smiles. If you’re going to Grand Central, get ready because we’ll be there in about 2 minutes. No need to rush though, take it easy. Also, we’ve had some small reports of pickpocketing happening on some downtown lines, so make sure you keep an eye on your stuff. But relax! Have a nice, wonderful stress-free day in the city. All the best.

• The MET ** The content A lot. The MET is big. Really big. But the MET is quite unlike any other museum you have visited. Whern was the last time you saw Oceanic ethnographic art share a building with contemporary fruniture design and Gaugin? The Metropolitan doesn’t really feel like a big museum. At most it feels like a collection of individual collections. And it would be unfair to judge the entire place at once, you really have to look closely at each section separately. Honestly, I wasn’t that impressed. Despite the evident budget, the Oceanic temporary exhibition was inferior to the permanent one housed in Berlin. The Flemish paintings failed to include a single one that I have come to love from the literature, while I spent the same amount of time I was in the MET, I spent looking at only the Rembrants in Vienna. The Middle American gold collection was quiet good. Let’s say I would have to take a longer time, actually days, to have a well-formed opinion. But the MET feels like a lot of hard work. It’s difficult to find the quality stuff in this vast pile. Actually, it’s already quite difficult to find your way at all. Good art doesn’t have a price, maybe this is a problem when trying to build a world-class museum in America?

** The box As my friend Valentina remarked, the exhibition of the Roman times feels very different from the Oceanic part. The latter is presented very clinical, very clearly with only the signs providing contextualization. The former, however, feels like it “should be”. Highly kitsch, the halls are decorated with faux pillars and mosaics. It’s actually extremely funny, because it feels almost like a pastiche of a real museum.

• The Guggenheim ** The content Right now, the Guggenheim is hosting an immense Kandinsky retrospective. It features a lot of his pre-Bauhaus work, which I probably appreciate more that his later work. Every period is represented well. After following the whole timeline, I felt amazed by the progress that happened, personally affected by the personal pain that seems to jump out of some of the works (qutie amazing for me, since abstract art tends to be difficult for me), and even quite amused by the subversive humor that runs through all of it. Well done, Wassily. You’re probably the first and only abstract artist I can appreciate on his own terms.

Apart from that, the Guggenheim also hosts the “perfect” permanent collection. Picasso, Monet, Manet,… When I walked into a tiny side room, I saw a 4sq meter black rectangle. My first thought was “not another black canvas”. But there was an odd bronze shape corner that moved me forward to see the piece. As soon as I stood in front of it, I was aware I was not looking at plain darkness, I was looking into a big sculpture. And what I saw was darkness. The kind of darkness you think you can feel, if it wouldn’t keep receding from your invisible fingertips. There are two other rooms where you can see the exterior of the piece. It’s a huge metallic zeppelin shaped structure, positioned so it barely touches the walls and ceilings. It’s impossible to walk around. It’s as foreboding because of it’s familiarity as Munch’s scream. It’s Anish Kapoor’s Memory

** The box The Guggenheim is a perfect place to appreciate art. It feels very sturdy, yet has the serenity of wind shaped red rock. It never feels overwhelming or overtly present, yet has it’s own aesthetic. Highly functional, it felt as if it was purpose built for this exhibition. It’s almost as if some great giant took a big rock, hollowed the centre, traced a spiral with a calm but forceful hand, and then slowly pulled up to create… space. The building doesn’t feel like it was purposely built, it almost feels like it was found to be great to display art.  It feels wonderfully unobtrusive. I’m running out of adjectives.

• Bonus round : The new museum

We were cheap. We got lucky. The only thing I knew about the new museum was that it had a free night every Friday. And I saw Urs Fischer. It was great. Urs Fischer has invented his own medium, where he takes pictures from ordinary objects from XYZ axis, and then pastes the blown up pictures on a mirrored box. It’s an interesting thought in itself, looking at “things” from different perspectives, and only being able to see the full image in your head, due to association with seeing these everyday objects in real life. But he’s a good enough to not stop there. From the front, a guitar. From the back, you notice it’s actually broken and the back is missing. A zombie turns out to be a cardboard cutout from the side. The surprising symmetry of a dangling chain.

But there is something odd about the colouring on the second floor, but you don’t stop to think about it. And you read the explanation on the wall, and it described how he took a picture of all the walls, and pasted them on the same spot, offset by a couple of centimeters. And suddenly, you see it. The wallpaper seems to have a texture of paint. The real exit sign has a phantom 2D brother right next to it. There are nails projected on the wall. And all the shadows are inconsistent with the actual lighting, and the scary thing is is that it used to be my job to catch exactly this problem. Great stuff, it caught me completely unaware. The implications of this will be left as an exercise for the reader.

NY, pt 2

This issa Brooklyn bound A Express, next stop Fulton, Franklin here, transfer to G, 1 2 3 downtown.

• How much do I get here for two thousand euros?* Twenny too hunnerd* What? Rate’s more or less 2 to 3. I would expect it to be close to 3 thousand than to 2.* Look, I canno give u more than twenny fai hunnerd. And that’s only only a deel wenya take it right NOW.* Come on, Chase down at Bedford  and Rockaway gives me 2786. I’m sure you can try.* Well sir, we aint Chase. You have a good dai na, bye bye.At B&H, NYC’s mekka of consumer photography and video, 6 people ask me if I need assistance. I keep wondering if I look like I need some. When I arrive at the department, I actually have to talk to a shop assistance to be able to hold the physical camera in my hands. I buy it. I don’t get the camera. I get a voucher. The camera is put in a big green tub, the tub is placed on a huge conveyor belt that runs through the whole shop, and my precious new toy is transported somewhere in the bowels of this vast shopping factory. I go to the cashier, who are segregated according to cash or credit payment.  A machine informs me when a booth is free, relieving me from the bothersome task of paying attention. After paying, I get a voucher to once again get line for pick-up, wait for the mechanical voice to tall me which person to talk to, and finally I get the damn thing. Ford would be proud. It wouldn’t be so bad, if the exact same process woudln’t be repeated the next day, when I bought my insurance. A green tub to transport a piece of paper. Cash line. Pickup. Only in America. Half the employees in the store are Jewish, and it’s hard to not notice.

The clerks at the huge apple streets on 8th Av are idiots, just because they can afford to be.

Central park is a special place without the foliage of the trees. It feel rather desolate, and it’s difficult to keep the illusion of nature, as the skyline is visible at all times. But it’s mighty impressive just how far the skyline is. Central park is enormous. It also seems well though-out with many small hamlets, slowly rolling hills and variety. This is probably the only reason you should not visit NYC in January.

Soon: Brooklyn Bridge

NY, pt 1

And I’m off to Ellis Island. Mayakovsky is right here with me, partly because the lingua france during my night in Frankfurt was Russian, probably because I packed “My discovery of America” for the trip.

From what  I can glimpse of the plane through the tiny portholes of the bridge, it’s a monstrosity. I’ve never flown 747 before. the surreal twilight and organic shape of the nose make me feel as if I’m boarding a trained whale, heading for the bottom. The English inside the beast teaches me that there is a place called Fort Lauderdale and I that I feel I never ever want to go there. the German reminds me painfully of the my hard, drunken effort trying to keep the Syrian, Bulgarian and Russian from slipping silent away for German to unintelligibly.

Nobody has ever written a good paragraph about flying, and nobody ever will.

I arrive in Brooklyn around noon, and align myself with the locals by doing some mundane things. Exchange money, sim card, maps, power converter, I spend about 2 hours around Fulton street before I realize the only white people I saw were 2 beat cops. Even if it’s not a law, it’s still segregation. But everything clicks into place: I get a warm welcome by friends I’ve never met before, well trodden conversation paths make us travel together and the last musician I see that night plays until his century old banjo is covered in blood. One band-aid later and he’s back at it. God I love the music here.

Almost

He was smart enough to figure it out, but too dumb to change it. They were different enough to make it interesting, and similar enough to make it pleasant. As every writer of the Dan Brown generation, he was bitter and obscure.

Hurt

I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused in my life to everyone. It seemed a good idea at the time. Maybe I was frantic, drunk, lovestruck,an idiot or misunderstood.

I don’t believe in vengeance or retribution. But I’ve hurt people . In every case I did what I did for other reasons. I regret it had to hurt.

I try to live my life honestly and in harmony with every person on this planet. It’s just quite hard from time to time. And as I grow older, I realize it’s impossible to fully understand someone, so it will always remain an ideal. And feeling hurt is far from a rational thing.

Confusion

It doesn’t seem like anything changed between you guys, I was expecting something else after all you told me.

Serendipity (aka 60 second conversation)

As soon as he saw her, he knew. And half a minute later, when he first heard that voice, there was no more doubt in his mind. Just as there was no doubt about the identity of the person facing away from him. Although it was a shock, the instantaneous recognition enabled him to continue his conversation without missing a beat. And so it seem she did, so the only thing he could still wonder was if she was wondering. It had been 2 years after all…

When she got up to order at the bar, he did likewise. They kept looking forward to the array of cheap liquor, rather than to each other.

“So, how is Holland ?” “I never went there. I’ve lived in Germany for all this time with a girl I met travelling. The last time you called me I was in Moscow, and I met her there.” “I still think about you a lot.” “Do you have kids now ?” “No, he’s not too keen.” “Do you want to meet ?” “I’ll let you know, but I have to go now”

The difference between fiction and reality is that in reality, nothing really ends.

The Anatomy of Loss

Losing something is a curious process. As soon as one becomes aware of the loss, it becomes conspicuously present through it’s absence. The most typical example would be a phantom limb. The most common immediate reaction would be to replace the loss immediately, with no thoughts whatsoever to cost or alternatives. Frantic, ineffective searching is also high on the list.

Curiously, I have found lately that all of this applies perfectly to both people and small objects related loss. The former is of course the interesting of the two.

The interesting part would be to use the loss as a way to reflect on what the lost thing actually meant and was during it’s presence. Often, I find that the lost thing was something entirely different, and in that sense it was never really lost (although, it’s often a missed opportunity to explore what was really there all along). But this line of thinking is not very productive, because you very quickly come to the conclusion that it’s always impossible to know what the thing exactly was, and all the searching of what it was exactly will prove to be futile. I hope it’s obvious I’m talking about people at this point, and not about passports.

Lately, I’ve been noticing 2 different attitudes to loss of people: the ones that consider it a set back, and the others who see it as an opportunity. Can it still be called loss when you intentionally choose to do without some things, in order to create possibilities? An example would be a friend who decides to hitchhike without his fancy tent and sleeping bag, so he is forced to be creative and have experiences on the road. Another would be the philosophy of no gain with no loss (or more general, no pain no gain).

Personally, I have a pretty static world view and have the tendency to holds on to the things I have, as I’m relatively easily content. I don’t tend to make things difficult for myself as an act in itself.  I also spend a lot of time reflecting on the things lost, but I don’t consider that “lost” time. It’s time spend appreciating the things you have, or had. I’d rather have less things, but learn from them or use them to the fullest. I guess I’m an idealist and a hedonist. Although I’m losing a bit of the former.

What about you?