Fallen wing man fromTan Jun book is my start forThe Library Project.
I had one of those sigularly psychodelic days yesterday
though I wasn’t on any synthetic chemicals
other than whatever my crazy brain excretes of its own accord
I went running in Central park as the better half needed to go into the office
and I had skipped the morning gym to tweek the Goethe video.
On the way in we discussed death and family, etc…
you know: the usual.
We ate Vietnamese food for lunch and the sky started to cry rain, but
the sort of comforting drizzle tears that tell you… “go running”, more than They tells you:
“go hiding”.
In central park, however the clouds opened up for real and I ducked into the
dairy (a sort of faux alpine retreat now that I think of it) and put the camera on
the railing and did a timelapse hoping the rain would end.. it wouldn’t
and didn’t
Unable to raise anyone on the cell phone to kill time with,
I put the camera in a plastic bag and decided to get wet
I was wearing my Comedy Central “Juste Pour Rire” foul weather gear
From the Montreal Comdey festival…
So really I was only worried about the camera and my feet
I ran all over the rain wet orange thinking of Christo and that magic morning of the Gates
and all the magic moments I’d lived in that park…
often crossing from The old Institute offices
On the West side
to visit the Allan Stone gallery
on the East,
by way of the the chosin reservoir (is it safe?)
and as I flashed all of these things:
I realized I was right by the Alice sculpture and wouldn’t she look lovely in the rain?
and just as I hit the grotto, the rain stopped in a sudden, profound
silence.
I was able to shoot the soaking sculpture with fearless electronic abandon
and when I got my last shot…
crash – hiss – splash!
the rain started to pour again…
Somewhat freaked out
by the nealy conversational timing
of this exchange between artist, nature, art,
and whatever Alice is (which includes literature)
I decided to run over to the MET
and bask in art instead of mud…
Glorious glorious art…
including a show by Sean Scully
the only person now painting in my dad’s Albersian idiom…
so it was full circle against a grid as it always is…
I should like to live in The Metropolitan Museum,
if they are accepting Artist’s in Residence.
Just maybe their Swiss room would do.
I think the only way to see the collection properly
Is on your way to the W.C. to brush your teeth
around midnight in the rain walking past infinite mirrors.
