Art begets art. Nothing speaks more profoundly to a writer than a modern art exhibit. I’ve seen some Picassos before, but the selection at the Museum of Modern Art is astounding – particularly “Girl Looking in a Mirror,” and “Dream of Undie,” or something like that. Brilliant mauves and yellows. Beautiful browns.Then there are the giant Matisses “The Dance.” “The Red Studio.” Marco took lots of photos.
Carol Bove’s sculpture “Equinox,” (a display that fills an entire room), was the most captivating piece I saw. The textures of driftwood, steel, painted piping, feathers, seashell, glittery curtain, and a decomposing mattress created surprises at every turn.
We began the morning walking on the High Mile and thinking about James Barilla’s book My Backyard Jungle. There are some beautiful views of the water from that walk, as well as some astounding construction. Construction workers were hooked precariously to enormous bunches of steel “cages” where the concrete will be poured. It’s supposed to be a housing hi-rise by Spring 2014, right next to the High Mile.
Last night, the unnamed, pukey film festival featured a film by Jill McTwattlebum (not her real name) that spent a lot of time whining. “My mother punched me around, so I need to become a second rate boxer to get over it,” etcetera. Getting a job that pays money might be a better kind of therapy at 40.
What interested me was Jill’s prior career as a pole dancer. She wrote a stage play based on the gyrating dancers that got good reviews. Then she made this film about herself, PTSD and boxing. Jill did a pretty good job of extracting stories from female boxers – stories with beginnings, middles, and ends. Unfortunately they all dealt with physical abuse. Jill’s husband had the best line – “I gave up Tai Kwan Do because after getting hit in the stomach a few times, I figured, I have an MBA, so I don’t need this.” Well said, Gary. Getting beaten up is a young person’s sport.
Writing the play allowed Jill McTwaddle to do a pretty good job of editing the film. Which shows once again that art produces art.
The trip to MOMA inspired me to work on my stage play,
while Marco is shopping at the stereo store in some kind of acoustical heaven.
Tomorrow – Broadway.