Just playing... I never forget how fun life is.
But heading out to Pittsburgh for a day was a good reminder of the wonders of this world, how life arranges itself to accommodate even the most foolish of people. While we were driving, we saw, in rapid succession, a train of horse-drawn carriages, complete with passengers in colonial garb (that detail may not be accurate, but that's how my mind remembers them), a brush fire, and, then, this sign:
What the hell is that about? What was the discussion there? "Well, Gene, we got contracted to put a sign up." "Okay, where does this road lead?" "I don't know." "Me neither." "Well, we've got Paul the sign maker here, but no room in the budget to go look down the road." Well..."
I mean, what is the purpose of this sign? Who is it for? "You know, hon, I'd really like to find me a mystery while I'm driving around in Pennsylvania. Now, where in the heck will we be able to find such a thing..."
Where indeed. After seeing all of that stuff, Em said, "Man, we are seeing a lot of weird stuff today." Musingly, I responded, "It's just the world, man. It's always out here." She said, "I only see this kind of stuff when I'm with you." to which I said, "Well, then, I guess you better hang out with me more often."
I guess I put weirdness into the world, so weirdness I receive. Of course, I feel like I'm on the winning end of the deal.
We put on Bowie's Hunky Dory and I was reminded that it's probably high time for me to go through an official 'Bowie phase.' The album was released shortly before the whole Ziggy Stardust phase, and it's super positive and upbeat, featuring tracks like "Kooks" and (of course) "Andy Warhol". We sang along and enjoyed the strange life among strange people.
I've kept my nose to the grindstone for the last few weeks. After completing a sort of exorcism of a project, a 90,000 word novel that is basically unpublishable, being an account of my budding relationship with Em and all of the flights and follies that have occurred therein, running side by side with fictional characters, amalgamations of other people (some that I haven't met and don't care to), and my stream-of-consciousness, non-stop neurosis, I've settled into a fairly routine life of boyfriendom, helping out at the bookstore, and writing my ass off. In addition to my running 4th step, I've produced a whole grip of new stories that I am tentatively hoping to find a more visible home for (my rejection count is now in double digits for those of you keeping score). Additionally, Em has been dealing with a lot on her end, working a lot and learning to deal with all of my eccentricities. It's a good life, but it was nice to get back out into the world for a bit.
So, off to Pittsburgh we went. First, we made a stop at The Mattress Factory, an awesome contemporary art museum that featured mostly installations. Em found it and it was the impetus for the whole trip. This is where the Clockwork Orange room was. Additionally, it featured a room with ten different videos recording out the successive windows of a subway train in NYC, recreating the movement of the train in the Pittsburgh basement. There was also a strange 'White Trash House', created by an artist that died shortly after the piece's completion. Em really liked this one:
My favorite was probably Pleiades by Turrell, an exercise in sensory deprivation wherein the viewer walked down a hallway that was totally dark, hand upon a rail, bumping into other patrons, to find a seat in the darkness and stare into the black until one's eyes adjusted enough (over the course of a patient fifteen minutes) to see the piece. It was a strange experience that reminded me that many things only exist in the mind, that my senses are lacking, and that there is still art that can push our own thought forward. A big part of the experience was waiting, thinking, wondering if what you were seeing was the art or just the inside of your own head. Turrell achieved the task of forcing me to stare at his art for an extra five minutes because I really wanted to see it, to make sure that I got the full experience. This happened while I was in a building that housed many other exhibits that one would want to devote at least some time to. So, kudos to him. One of the other exhibits was a building (yes, a separate building) that was three stories of tinker toys, plastic block, models, shadows, music, and moving parts, all meticulously arranged. There was no way that, in one viewing, the patron could possibly see everything. Luckily, or, intentionally, there were strategically placed magnifying glasses signifying important points in the tour.
After a walk around the surrounding, we were off to the Andy Warhol Museum. I was particularly taken with his early stuff. I liked that, just because he is now an icon, his little doodles of kids at Christmas and his portraits of his lover's junk or a portrait of a guy picking his nose are now hanging in a museum. It was also interesting to see that he was never really a starving artist. Warhol got a job almost immediately after landing in New York. He designed artistic advertisements for places like Tiffany's and Macy's, which helped him to develop his pop style.
I also really like some of his later stuff, urinating on the canvas as a version of Pollock's 'drip' style, and his 'return' to the Campbell's products that he did in the 80s. That's funny. I just really dig the idea that everything can yield art, that all of life is worth inspection, interpretation, explanation. It makes me feel better about continuing to pump my own junk into the world. It makes me feel like I'm part of the process rather than just a nuisance to humanity. Warhol had a project where he boxed up thousands of items, labeled them, and they are now on display in the museum. Many of the boxes are still just sitting on a shelf. It was called the Time Capsule. I think that's really cool. The idea that everything is art makes everything seem kind of special, worth attention. Anything that we are doing is a worthwhile endeavor. It almost makes me reconcile my love/hate relationship with the instant art of the internet. We are living in Warhol's predicted future.
It makes me feel justified in my continued transparency in my own work. I don't really regret how much of my personal business that I've broadcast in a public forum. When I look back at my attempts to make art out of my misery, I just see an idiot trying to find the line between life and performance, between pain and the glorification of bad behavior. I guess I'm still that idiot, I'm just happier and more productive now, putting positive, interesting things into the world and being more considerate of the people that may be affected by me. I'm realizing that, really, there is no line between performance and life, between art and the artist.
After all of this, we walked down to the water, ate greasy street pizza, and considered going to a Pirates game but thought better of it. We did have a good time watching geese try to fly around though. Those birds are always in a bad mood.
Oh, and I didn't really talk about Lynch. Em and I are watching Twin Peaks. She's seen it, but I never did. I went through a huge 'Lynch' phase in school. It tried to figure him out, only to learn that the point to most of his best stuff is that one is supposed to interpret it for oneself. But I never watched Twin Peaks. I guess I just figured that the Lynch that I liked would have to be watered down too much for the rules of television at the time. It's really interesting to watch the show now. It's cool that it's not episodic, that had to be some kind of advancement for TV at the time, right? I also didn't know if I could handle the Lynch world and atmosphere for two whole seasons. Anyway, I like it and it's cool that Em can show it to me because Eraserhead has been her favorite of the movies that we've watched together that she'd never seen.
No comments:
Post a Comment