The Gates

I have to admit that my experience was a drive-by one, more in keeping with L.A. culture than that of New York, but I was taken by The Gates just the same. Driving down Fifth Avenue in the on-coming dusk, a fresh coat of snow from the night before still melting, grey buildings in the distance disappeared in a mist, saffron celebrations made the wind visible.
The installation created a burst of life, a breath of peace and turned the drive into a bit of a game. Could I get past the bus in time to see the next set of gates coming up on my right. Could I stay in the far right hand lane all the way down the edge of the park. Should I turn right and cut through the park to the West Side, or continue on my southerly route? (I chose to stay my course, not wanting to get mired in more than my share of traffic.)
I noticed a couple taking pictures of one another in front of one gate and imagine there were many more shutters snapping than usual in Central Park throughout the installation. I just wish it were up longer. This time of year in the city is particularly desperate in a way. We've been pent up too long in offices and indoors. Even though it's been a mild winter, February I think is the longest month, not April.

omega

Just got my invite from Brett Brevell at Omega for two weeks as artist in residence at Omega and realized that mid month, the ides, are apparently a power time for me. I first noticed this when I moved back to New York from Los Angeles. And not only the ides, but something about March specifically beginning a power time. Although I have to say that mid February is not feeling so positive, or powerful.
When are your power times? Of week? Month? And year?
Larry and I will be heading for LA the first week of March and back on the 13th. The following month is the Exit Art prayingproject and Omega comes mid May, giving me good things to look forward to, as I sit here on a really cold day bemoaning the enclosure of the office, but not really wanting to tread outside.
I have spent the last week or so agonizing about my final proposal for the prayingproject. Rethinking my original desire to chant, having an augury midweek, midchant that art is my soul song, not song. Thinking perhaps to play my flute soul song as an opening of the ritual and a closing. Just plain being all over the map with it all. Trying desperately to just simplify. And wondering why I torture myself so.
Do all artists drive themselves mad this way? I remember being a gallery director in LA and thinking a few of the artists were way overthinking their exhibitions. Even now as a corporate writer, I see people over thinking things all the time. And I guess I do the same thing.

praying project at exit art

I am very excited to report that my proposal for a bead making chant was accepted by Exit Art for their prayingproject, april 15 thru 17. I just got the call this morning and now have to refine my submission to specifics about amount of time, days available and props necesssary. I had just given up hope of ever hearing about this one. It's a big jump for me, as it is a performanc piece. And a very good feeling.

The Drawing Center

Just for the record, the current exhibition is the first I've seen here that I didn't absolutely love. And in truth, I just didn't get it at all. I'd stopped by during the installation and was completely intrigued by the description on the postcard. The artist had spent a good deal of time in India and the work was said to have mystical undertones.



Honestly, I think it was just completely over my head. I can't say I hated it.



Usually when I don't understand someone's work, it really irritates me. Like Matthew Barney's work. I've always said that the work I hate the most changes me the most, because I think about it for a very long time after first seeing it, and it has a way of working itself into my psyche. It ends up teaching me a lot about many things. And as I learn, I begin to unfold its complexities and my understanding broadens, and I begin to appreciate the work, in a way that transcends like or dislike.



Richard Tuttle: It's a Room for 3 People, and Field of Color: Tantric Drawings from India didn't really leave me feeling anything. Not even perplexed enough to care I suppose. And as I write that, I think of all the times I've thought critics were so mean and nasty to review exhibitions with the same lack of emotion.



You see - I've learned a little something already.