A friend took me to see "In the Next Room (or the vibrator play)," which is set in the late 1800s. Much of the play is about blindness and perception with regard to science, medicine, and social progress. The main characters are two couples, a cold scientist married to an engaging woman who seeks greater intimacy with her husband and a depressed (and possibly lesbian) woman married to a man frustrated by her behavior.
The scientist treats the depressed woman's hysteria with an electronic vibrator to produce a paroxysm (orgasm). The women are inspired to explore their sensuality, but the "rational" men around them seem baffled by the women's "erratic" behavior. All are fairly clueless about female sexuality, but the men are unique in their simultaneous arrogance and ignorance.
At one point in the play, a character marvels about the constancy of electric light compared to flickering candles. Electricity made a treatment available but the condition was misidentified. Ironically, the condition did not require a technical solution. The characters populate a world that has recently become brightly illuminated yet they continue to lack insight.
I suppose in a world that lacked consistent, bright light, the elation about obtaining this technology overshadowed the appeal of other types of light.
Candles are dim and flicker, and these qualities are admirable in certain circumstances. Flickering is comparable to variations or imperfections in paint application, pottery, fabric, wood, brickwork, or plaster. I enjoy flickering as I enjoy the occasional pop or crackle in a vinyl record or nutty grains in bread. I regard flickering as a light texture.
Uniformity is unappealing. I can immediately recognize CGI technology in films because it is too uniform. When it is used within the premise of replicating something real, it fails. Real things are variegated. While I acknowledge the superiority of modern recordings, their slickness invites boredom. The sound of vinyl is richer, as brown bread is richer than white bread.
I recently saw a film in which a character sang about the Moon's phases. He cautioned that a Moon that isn't full only appears partial. The Moon is always complete, it is only our perception of it that makes it appear incomplete.
This sentiment struck me as hopeful. Things often are not what they seem to be. There is an alternative view that may make more sense. Just as, when it is dark, the Moon reminds us that the Sun still shines somewhere else.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Dim and Bright Beacons
It may sound pretentious, but I often think about a section in Walden in which Thoreau discusses intentionally becoming lost or losing his beacons. Like Thoreau, I acknowledge the trepidation in this event, but also the benefit. Sometimes I think time is slowly erasing my beacons without my awareness of their disappearance.
I have an artist friend who has become more of an acquaintance over the past few years. She has introduced me to many of her friends. It is slightly ironic that I have strengthened friendships with the several women I met through her while our relationship has waned.
This artist has set an agenda for herself and works diligently. It is clear that she has chosen to pursue her art career rather than friendships. I admire her resolve and do not feel slighted by her decision.
When I hear from her, it is usually through an email about a show in which she is participating. Usually, her shows are located outside of Manhattan and I am working. But this week, she had a show in Nolita.
Yesterday, I met a designer friend to attend her show. He is a lovely person with a unique perspective, and I treasure our conversations.
Unfortunately, there was someone in the gallery who had treated him badly in the past. He did not want to go inside.
I understood his reluctance to see this person. I quickly saw the show and said hello to the artist. It was a very good show, and I would have lingered further under different circumstances. I felt the tug of respecting the decorum of the gallery visit and the needs of my friend.
The designer was hungry. We walked to a pizza place so he could get a slice to go. As we walked, we noticed another art opening that looked promising. He finished his slice outside while I went inside to see whether the work on display was by Chris Roberts-Antieau, an artist I discovered at the American Visionary Arts Museum this summer. It was.
As I stood in front of a piece I admired, I noticed another artist standing behind me. It was Marie Roberts, who is a favorite painter and an acquaintance. It was a pleasant surprise to see her. I introduced her to my friend, who presented her with an "optimism" button that she really liked.
The designer and I wandered into a couple more galleries before heading home. He confessed to me that he is in a relationship, and I am delighted on his behalf. He is a wonderful person who deserves a good partner.
It is interesting how events can wend over years or an evening. It was a night of thwarted intentions and welcome unintended events.
I have an artist friend who has become more of an acquaintance over the past few years. She has introduced me to many of her friends. It is slightly ironic that I have strengthened friendships with the several women I met through her while our relationship has waned.
This artist has set an agenda for herself and works diligently. It is clear that she has chosen to pursue her art career rather than friendships. I admire her resolve and do not feel slighted by her decision.
When I hear from her, it is usually through an email about a show in which she is participating. Usually, her shows are located outside of Manhattan and I am working. But this week, she had a show in Nolita.
Yesterday, I met a designer friend to attend her show. He is a lovely person with a unique perspective, and I treasure our conversations.
Unfortunately, there was someone in the gallery who had treated him badly in the past. He did not want to go inside.
I understood his reluctance to see this person. I quickly saw the show and said hello to the artist. It was a very good show, and I would have lingered further under different circumstances. I felt the tug of respecting the decorum of the gallery visit and the needs of my friend.
The designer was hungry. We walked to a pizza place so he could get a slice to go. As we walked, we noticed another art opening that looked promising. He finished his slice outside while I went inside to see whether the work on display was by Chris Roberts-Antieau, an artist I discovered at the American Visionary Arts Museum this summer. It was.
As I stood in front of a piece I admired, I noticed another artist standing behind me. It was Marie Roberts, who is a favorite painter and an acquaintance. It was a pleasant surprise to see her. I introduced her to my friend, who presented her with an "optimism" button that she really liked.
The designer and I wandered into a couple more galleries before heading home. He confessed to me that he is in a relationship, and I am delighted on his behalf. He is a wonderful person who deserves a good partner.
It is interesting how events can wend over years or an evening. It was a night of thwarted intentions and welcome unintended events.
Monday, November 2, 2009
What Happened Was
A Rube Goldberg, mid-life version of losing my retainer:
A nail slid out of the wall.
The "Don't be Bitter Use More Glitter" picture fell on the dish holding the retainer case.
The dish flipped into the sink.
The retainer case bounced and flew across the room.
The case opened and part of it fell into the toilet and part of it fell on the floor.
At least I didn't have to go through all of the trash in the lunch room to find it. Nor did I have to endure a lecture from angry parents.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
In the Moment
When I first moved to New York, I made an effort to go to the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. As New Yorkers had warned me, it was crowded and I didn't see much.
This year I decided to participate in the 36th parade as a dancer in the Thrill the World group. I convinced a friend to join me. We attended a few cold, night practices in Central Park.
It was fun in an odd way to meet a group of strangers at the dimly illuminated bandshell and practice a dance for 2 hours. I'm generally nervous about being in the park in the dark, but my friend accompanied me and the park looked beautiful with the light orange trees glowing in lamp light. Several cyclists, homeless people, couples, and dog walkers would stop to observe us dance.
On Halloween, it was unseasonably warm. For once, my costume wasn't covered with a jacket.
We found our group in the line up by Ghost D and practiced a few times. It was the first time I had seen my fellow dancers in daylight. We were a diverse crowd: Asians, Latinos, Caucasians, African Americans, students, workers, job seekers, retirees, dancers, amateur dancers, middle class, working class, and poor. It is heartening that very different strangers came together to pursue a shared interest.
When we started dancing, I got warm. They sky was cloudy and rain threatened. The air was misty as we embarked on the parade route. The damp felt cool. I started to hope it would rain.
I was surprised by the crush of the crowd. Parade participants walked through our group without knowing we were about to start a dance routine. It was very distracting. I missed steps because I was afraid of hitting someone by accident. We started to warn people to move away, but too many were too obnoxious or drunk to comply.
I was not expecting this interruption. I've participated in the Mermaid Parade for years, and the volunteers in that parade prevent observers from walking in the parade route. It really angered me that I could barely do what I was there to do because crowd control was so weak.
That said, the crowd liked our group once they realized it was a dance performance. It is interesting how people respond uniformly to things. There was a backward step that always got them cheering.
As we made our way down 6th Avenue, the rain got heavier and heavier and the crush of paraders waned. By the time we made it to 21st Street, the situation resembled what I imagined it would be. We had plenty of room to perform the routine.
I was soaking wet, but didn't care. I felt fantastic. The rain cooled me and I had enough space to dance well.
We were directed down 21st Street as a downpour began. Instead of running for shelter, almost everyone in the group stretched their arms out and ran down the street screaming.
It is unusual that a group shared this spontaneous gesture in the same moment. I wonder what it is about us that led to this unchoreographed, synchronized response to the deluge.
This year I decided to participate in the 36th parade as a dancer in the Thrill the World group. I convinced a friend to join me. We attended a few cold, night practices in Central Park.
It was fun in an odd way to meet a group of strangers at the dimly illuminated bandshell and practice a dance for 2 hours. I'm generally nervous about being in the park in the dark, but my friend accompanied me and the park looked beautiful with the light orange trees glowing in lamp light. Several cyclists, homeless people, couples, and dog walkers would stop to observe us dance.
On Halloween, it was unseasonably warm. For once, my costume wasn't covered with a jacket.
We found our group in the line up by Ghost D and practiced a few times. It was the first time I had seen my fellow dancers in daylight. We were a diverse crowd: Asians, Latinos, Caucasians, African Americans, students, workers, job seekers, retirees, dancers, amateur dancers, middle class, working class, and poor. It is heartening that very different strangers came together to pursue a shared interest.
When we started dancing, I got warm. They sky was cloudy and rain threatened. The air was misty as we embarked on the parade route. The damp felt cool. I started to hope it would rain.
I was surprised by the crush of the crowd. Parade participants walked through our group without knowing we were about to start a dance routine. It was very distracting. I missed steps because I was afraid of hitting someone by accident. We started to warn people to move away, but too many were too obnoxious or drunk to comply.
I was not expecting this interruption. I've participated in the Mermaid Parade for years, and the volunteers in that parade prevent observers from walking in the parade route. It really angered me that I could barely do what I was there to do because crowd control was so weak.
That said, the crowd liked our group once they realized it was a dance performance. It is interesting how people respond uniformly to things. There was a backward step that always got them cheering.
As we made our way down 6th Avenue, the rain got heavier and heavier and the crush of paraders waned. By the time we made it to 21st Street, the situation resembled what I imagined it would be. We had plenty of room to perform the routine.
I was soaking wet, but didn't care. I felt fantastic. The rain cooled me and I had enough space to dance well.
We were directed down 21st Street as a downpour began. Instead of running for shelter, almost everyone in the group stretched their arms out and ran down the street screaming.
It is unusual that a group shared this spontaneous gesture in the same moment. I wonder what it is about us that led to this unchoreographed, synchronized response to the deluge.
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