Hence the blogging endures.
My first week of grad school is complete, and I recieved perfect scores on every challenge. A small milestone, but if I duplicate it for the next 4 weeks a 4.0 will be quite feasible. And if I can do in 11 more classes I will have completed my pursuit for singular academic mastery.
If time/existence still prevalent then I will look forward to writing about it, as you may enjoy to read it.
Fear has now dwindled as my reality gradually takes to more solid formats, and I actually found myself smiling today. A delicate Thursday afternoon in a culturally astute area of the city, and my mind is restless.
As I have yet to rejoin the ranks of automotive ownership, I found myself hoofing it through the residential areas near university.With my satchel strapped across my chest I caroused the streets in search of nothingness. I took down a few numbers for possible flats to lease/rent/buy , but I really had no objective. It was decidedly vagabond of The Shameless One.
I came across the Menil Collection, which I entered with great caution, as I feared the cliches of the moment. The only people who come to museums are families, field trips and couples. The Shameless Vagabond is neither of these, and as I walked through the collection I felt increasingly pretentious. I crossed my arms and grimaced at African Sculptures as if knew a damn thing about art other than how it makes me feel.
"Hmmm. Compelling," the now grandiose art expert pensively ponders as he scratches his ass.
However, in this respect feelings are very important.
Whatever sense of critical curator pride I felt was diminished as the security began to follow me like they were waiting for me to join the ranks of art criminals. The worst thing is that their lack of stealth made me think I doing something wrong. I almost wanted to steal something so that their presence could be validated.
In continued respect to feelings, the effects of certain pieces overcame any lurking losers.
Walter de Maria's - The Color Men Choose When they Attack the Earth, 1986 - a large yellow canvas (about 20 ft wide 4.5 feet tall) with a rectangular plate dawning the pieces name. It's the first you will see upon entering the museum.
Max Ernst's - La Surrealisme et la Pinture 1942 - which depicts a surrealist figure painting a surrealist painting. Very....surreal...
The one piece that stole the moment was, All, by Maurizio Cattelan. In the middle of a large room lies 9 marble figures that resemble corpses covered with white sheets. Just walking by the piece took me to a reality of the fragility of life, and eventually my own mortality. Perhaps nine dead persons were the inspiration for the piece, and I was one of the lucky ones now standing before them.
Their time time/existence is no more but artistic immortality.
Mine is still moving.