Exhibition A

After a long weekend of celebration and a long day of stimulation, it's taking every ounce of energy I can muster to keep up the documentation of my uniquely New York outing. That's a lot of tions. And it's only week 2. The mere fact that I'm now re-thinking this task/resolution because of laziness is what I'd like to call exhibit A. I'm reminded of something my baby sister said to me this weekend, "I just feel like I suck at life." (She does not, however, suck at anything, and I was quick to reassure her of this.) And of a song lyric my other sister wrote, "My dad is afraid because I never finish anything..."
My siblings and I can be a bit lazy together it's true. I like to think that we enjoy each others company so much there's no great impetus for good planning. This coupled with the fact that we all seem to share the same vices, made the Target free Friday at MOMA a no go. Sadly. I was the bum who slept really late, and we had a show to catch and we thought we'd go out for dinner. Time management is just not a skill we...inherited. We do like to have fun, though. And we happen to be quite good at it.
But I think this might be important. Not the blog, but the conscious effort to take advantage of things. The experience of actively trying to grab life by the horns (or some other equally cheesy metaphor), and documenting it in some fashion. Even if the fashion is very humbling and makes me feel a little excited and a little lame at the same time. Humbling because it annoys me in the same way being an actress or some modern art annoys me. Exhibitionism.
To celebrate my life yesterday, I accepted a proposed birthday brunch date to Egg in Williamsburg with a new friend. Highly recommend this place, Brooklynites. Very sustainably minded and socially conscious...plus the food was fantastic. Best cheese grits I've had this side of the Mississippi. Not recommended: breakfast first dates. Well, at least not for me. Not exactly a morning person, and after the weekend I had, I felt a little like...well, like I suck at life. Ha!
The Bauhaus exhibition at MOMA was a highlight. As was the company of an old friend with whom I can't help but have fun. I'd heard or read about the Bauhaus movement while in Paris (art history was part of my curriculum), and then again in Berlin (I believe as part of the free walking tour I got to take), and have since been intrigued by the paradoxical idea of modernism. That's one of the big reasons MOMA was one of my first choices. Modernism makes things accessible. Individualizes things. It includes you. Takes the power away from the dictators and encourages original thought and forward thinking. No wonder Hitler wasn't a fan. The Nazis were such dicks.
Anyway, I was moved by the words scattered about in Scala's Der Traum (dream, yearning, birth, dying...pretty much covers it all, eh?), and taken with the immensity and sweet cotton-candy-dream color palette of this work. I also really liked the Grotesk sculpture meant to incite laughter and repulsion (who doesn't like that combination).
I can't say I completely understand modern art, and some of it certainly annoys me. The shoe box and yogurt lids of Orozco, for example, just seem like a waste of space. The Tim Burton exhibit was cool. I got to thinking about how prolific some can be in this life, and started to get the birthday blues. I think that's a totally valid emotion to have about this dwindling of time we all are forced to recognize as we age.
Overall, the trip was very needed. I do feel inspired. I wrote some about the acceptance of other people's work as part of my own...a weird concept that I feel might be vital to happiness. Sometimes it's just too overwhelming to think of how little I've been able to contribute or accomplish. Envy and depression may be the last traits you'd want in a yoga instructor. Miró and Rothko both had works that were very reminiscent of the great Dalí which caught our attention, and Gabel and I talked a little about imitation and originality and art and the ego. Was Dalí miserable? I have to wonder. On some level. And I don't mean to deny his genius, but did it make his life less joyous that he couldn't include himself in the whole?
I've found some very self-sabotaging behavior rearing up as of late, and I can't help but think it's probably a little bit of nerves concerning this new journey and career change. Self-loathing being so acceptable among artists, I've certainly learned to live with my demons. They love my disastrous room...it's comforting for them when I forget what day it is, or show up an hour late for shifts at the studio. Or lose brand new x-mas gifts. Or set bad examples for my younger sisters. We've been together so long, I can't really imagine my life without them. And not necessarily in a bad way. Like Tim Burton's illustrations and characters they're loony-dark. Cartoonishly scary. Not right, but oh-so-lovable
I chatted with my close friend from KY on Skype, and then proceeded to get a little down again. We live in totally different worlds with crazy opposite responsibilities. And I must say, I get jealous sometimes of her adorable 3 year-old, loving husband, and big pregnant belly (or built in tray, as she likes to call it). Though never am I jealous of the 5 dogs she's chosen to house and rescue...she's a bit of a nut.
After a little web surfing and comparing and despairing, I can't help but wonder, "What the hell am I doing?" The one saving grace is my sister had a friend from KY come up with them for the weekend. A young, beautiful wiseforheryearsbutgreenasthehills singer-songwriter who I may have had a little crush on. She's far more stylish and talented than I was at 20, but it was also nice to see myself through fresh eyes of someone from a similar background who was coming to the city for the first time.
"How do you know everyone?" she says. And I had to laugh at her tiny scope. We, of course, ran around the city in circles of people that I know and have come to love...went to restaurants and bars where everybody knew our names (cue Cheers song). I was also 20 when I came to NYC for the first time. And didn't know a soul. And had never heard of Bauhaus. And understood modern art far less than I do now. And had no idea my demons were even separate from me. Looking at this young girl was like looking at an old photograph of myself. Sepia-toned. But like Mac-book style. Because it's not really that old. It's just made to seem that old. Because eight years, after all, is just a drop in the bucket.
And I think about how my friend from home has this beautiful life, but it's truly not something I envy. Not to say my choice to be alone and experience these different things is any better...but I just can't think of it as worse. No matter how lonely it can seem.
Discoveries of the day: I have a totally cliché love for all things Klimt. And I'm really intrigued by the Soleri-designed town of Acrosanti in Arizona. (Probably has something to do with the great book I'm reading, Loving Frank, as he was a student of Mr. Wright's.) New and high up on my places to go. Feeling a little better now (it's officially not my birthday anymore as I finish writing this...and probably won't post until tomorrow after I've had some sleep and can properly edit), and can't help but think of all the exciting possibilities that each day (birth or not) brings. As the blurb next to Rothko's Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea says of his early view of art, "an adventure into an unknown world."