waiting for moma
It's kind of impossible to believe but spring is right around the corner. I know, its muddy and grey, and winter lies like a deep fog on the valley of your soul, but there always comes a moment, if you have a little faith, when the sun hits your back at the right angle, and all the stress and upset of the dark months melts away. But Virgo, you gotta get outside first, before the sun can do its work...
Laps Trinity "the L Magazine - Brooklyn Issue March 01"
Armed with gloves and coat and scarf and beanie and rumbling belly of insatiable hunger, we boarded the subway.. the morning is handwritten, but beyond lunch and back on the uptown bound f train we went looking for moma. It was grand, and full of youth and trendy off beat beauty. Of converse and floppy fringes. Bangs. Of illicit affairs, promises to wait until spring. Couples coupling in front of Pollock and Miro. Comfortable in a world of canonical greats, comfortable that their backdrops suited the drama of stolen moments, backdrops born of passion and fast and furious lives.
Unambitious, or perhaps realistic, we decided that the second floor was for us and headed straight to the café. Overlooking the snow covered sculpture garden and fortifying ourselves with grapefruit juice and cookies, we played mindlessly with the free audio prompts. A russian roulette of numbers, shot by snippets of art history. Drawing, Architecture and Design and Photography (perhaps ambitious after all). Eschewing the Dali's and Cézannes on offer above us I crawled around an exhibit called 'transforming chronologies' - j went straight to the architecture, yet again proving that in spite of vocal resistance to his trade, he is indeed infected by it, unavoidable interested. The drawings were grouped loosely in categories of faces, movement and tectonics and together presented an atlas, or a constellation of images, that spanned centuries, and emphasized repetition and seriality. And while some felt haphazard it was amazing to find yourself staring at a Picasso sketch alongside a Matisse and marvel at the similarity and resemblance of two trailblazers. I find myself frustrated in this attempt to recollect what struck me most, inevitably it's the names emblazoned on my consciousness that spring to mind, but the galleries were all so full - of wonder and awesomeness. Full of names I will never remember but pieces I hope never to forget. I will go back next Friday and then perhaps the Friday after. I feel so very lucky right now.