This poster is pasted all over New York. I love it.
Paper Tiger
We were sleepy last night on the train but rallied for some Hall & Oats.
I liked the dancing horses best tonight at Mike Kelley’s Performa piece at the Judson church. The incredibly fit naked men setting up a ladder were fun too.
Chelsea and I were out and about all day yesterday. There was a coffee shop in the morning, a walk down Havemeyer, my trip do some archive work, her trip to find those 9/11 postcards again, my walk around the upper east-side, her visit to Century 21. We met at the MoMA and walked our way down to the lower east-side, buying whatever we fancied on the street. Roasted chestnuts? Sure! Two cashmere scarves for $15? Well all right! We admired the Flatiron building and stopped for a beer and fried calamari at an old timey saloon. Right before dinner we saw stones for sale on the street. “Which one is best for mental concentration?” we asked. Fluorite it is! And now that we have our stones, perhaps we can begin to write.
trees, trees, yay, trees
So… we ended up in lower Manhattan and after scoffing at a guy selling postcards of the World Trade Center burning (but wait …should we buy one? Who would we send it to? How could it even ever be funny?) we were in a fog filled room totally lost. Lost in the sense that I had to call out “Chelsea are you there?!” And she had to grab my hand or at least say “put your hand in front of your face.” I needed an anchor. And that was maybe the best part of this ZEE thing in which I exclaimed “It’s like we’re in a TV!” Basically we were digitized for 20 minutes and then assaulted with psychedelic designs. All around. And totally lost. Lost in the sense that my body had little relevance. I said “This is why I like reality!” And also why I’ve never taken serious drugs. I like reality. Or reality is enough.
Later we made pork chops and beets with ricotta cheese and a balsamic reduction. Uh huh, see …reality.
The Richard Foreman play was so so so good—the bullshit detector didn’t even need to be turned on! It made no sense and total sense at the same time. I can tell you it was about time and not overthinking and not figuring out a beginning middle end. Everything was so interesting to look at and the sound and the lights and the actors movements were perfectly precise. Highly recommended! WIll Defoe I now can forgive you for Antichrist.
Today I’m headed to FuturePerfect’s ZEE described as “a rigorous mindscape; a hallucinatory architecture of light; a dream machine.” A friend told me it was amazing, though, it took a series of emails to make an appointment since it’s invitation only and only to those who are in the arts community. What’s with that? Why not open it to the public? As usual, I’m skeptical.
I’m going to Richard Foreman’s new play Idiot Savant tonight. A description: “From precise existential and metaphysical acrobatics, to a ridiculous game of inter-species golf with a Giant Duck, IDIOT SAVANT is a fresh, bracing and hilarious exploration of the boundaries of the legitimate.” I’m gonna try real hard not to call bullshit on this one.
Update: I just found this on wiki: “The goal of his performances is a “disorientation massage”, in contrast to Aristotle’s goal of catharsis.” Oh, I like that—I could totally use a disorientation massage.
I’m headed to Maggie’s Farm today (aka Bard campus). They have some archives I need to take a look at. I’m excited to take the train—I’ve packed a special lunch and everything.
So there was a time when I yelled “it’s all like the Doors!” And Chelsea said “yeah, it’s really sixties.” But mostly we just really felt the jam. And how often do you feel a jam? Not very, right? Mostly it was a modest crowd and then they started and everyone moved in. One of the longest sets I’ve seen and White Denim were wow, yeah. right on.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
It’s cold and rainy and I woke with a scratchy throat. Just the same, I’m gonna rally. White Denim tonight!
Tonight’s Eyebeam performa show started with hysterics—> multimedia installation, loud Slovene half-jokingly commanding orders, abstraction as anti-gravity (yes, of course!), a bright red-haired woman in a suit slicing the air with her arms. Though there was the mandatory vodka shot and then it all devolved into eyes at half-mast and a touch-my-monkey sensibility.
