“We suffer from a strange kind of amnesia. Yes, we are individuals with a personal history, machines with a particular wiring that generate meanings. But our daily existence is also one big mess of words, impulses and experiences, tiny explosions that renew who we are at every infinitesimal moment.”
The Electric Dress (Atsuko Tanaka)
I’m over at TNB today with the second volume of my new monthly idea Things Seen (and Unseen). Please head over and have a look.
See you Monday with all sorts of good stuff… including how I learned that my old interior designer was in his own words – “The Savior of the Universe” (no joke – and it turns out his astrological sidekick was Roseanne Barr’s psychic)…
When I was a teenager I used to drive into Manhattan by myself and walk around at night. My mother once told me this was known as a ‘cheap date’… Once the city emptied out, another city would emerge and I’d spend hours walking while the tired buildings watched over me… I’m still hard pressed to think of a better way to spend an evening.
My mother called in a froth this morning to deliver this very cool news… Paris’ Pompidou Center (which boasts the largest collection of modern and contemporary art in Europe) announced that they will be putting all the men’s work in storage for an entire year and filling the permanent collection galleries with works created by women only. I think it’s great, and not in a bra-burning, angry-feminist kind of way. Woman are roughly 50% of the population and we’re always under represented. Sometimes it’s nice to tip the scales in our direction. I think somewhere Camille Claudel is smiling…
So, after being inspired by the spate of illustrated journal books that have been recently published, I finally decided to bite the bullet and start keeping one myself. Who knew drawing could be so fun. I can’t get over how different things look when you really take the time to look closely. Though I will admit I’m struggling with perspective – both literally and metaphorically.
On a recent trip to NYC, I spotted this drawing by my favorite Puerto Rican, Cornell educated graffiti artist James De La Vega. I realize De La Vega’s mantra ‘become your dream’ is becoming sort of gimicky – sort of like Jenny Holzer’s truisms – but I still smile when I stumble across his stuff. This one was written on the side of a broken bookshelf that was just sitting on 94th Street by a pile of trash.
I personally think some forms of graffiti qualify as art, though here’s an essay that really argues the point.
One of my favorite street artists is TiTo na Rua – I love his stuff. Just amazing. His green drummer boy kills me.