mass moca

Larry and I drove to North Adams yesterday; a beautiful day for the drive. Mass Moca was packed. Usually when we go, it's much quieter and not so filled with children or adults. But despite the overload of additional stimulii: the buzz of people walking and talking, children running like wild amidst the already somewhat frenetic art--it was a great day.

I always feel a bit like a kid in a candy store when I get to Mass Moca. Seem to get up there about twice a year. For my birthday, and around now. It really is close enough that we should be able to get there more frequently, but life is busy enough.

The main floor was Matthew Ritchie, and feeling overwhelmed from the moment I walked in due to my on going health issues with as yet undiagnosed lyme, I decided at first not to read all the info on the wall, and the myriad pamphlets. That lasted about a minute. I walked into the first gallery and just sat, to see what my reaction/response would be and it was this: apocolyptic primordial soup. And I loved it. So much so that I had to go back and read what it was all about, and I'm always a bit overjoyed when I actually get it before knowing what it's about. I love that art is intuitive, and that it conveys without needing to be explained. I imagine if I were not so hurried feeling all the time, and sat with things longer, I would absorb even more in this way. Without reading, but I have learned that it is helpful to know a bit, even a tiny bit about what the artist is thinking, doing. It just adds to the experience. But it is nice to let oneself respond and feel first, then learn more.

Upstairs, a variety of artists groups dealt with socio political issues ranging from genetically modified foods to homelessness, blackness, and the detritus and forensic evidence of urban living.

My attention span is shorter than normal at the moment, and the largest gallery which usually houses a huge installation -- the last time we were there it was Gober's Stations of the Cross -- was closed. So we headed for coffee at Brewhaha, sat and watched the sun set and the clouds, then listened to NPR in the car for a half hour before our ritual dinner at Grammercy Bistro, which was even more delightful than usual, because we were not only the first one's there but the only ones.