Anxiously

Got a new confusing phone. I have given in to the whole texting thing. So why not the kindle? I wanted to try J. G. Ballard and was able to have it in my hand in seconds. So this is definitely more convenient. But although I know text exists beyond a physical book, I could not divorce writing from the volume I was reading. My memory of Mrs. Dalloway is intimately integrated with the sensation of holding the Whitestone library volume and how the plastic protecting the cover was sticking to my hand as I started to sweat either from the summer heat or from the scary page-long initiating sentence. Now will words be more abstract? Or will I remember them as being framed by the white galaxy phone I had during this transition period in my life as I prepare to enter the legal profession? Well, only one way to find out by starting High Rise.

Consumed on 6/1/14

The New York Post Saturday, May 31, 2014

Newsday Saturday, May 31, 2014

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Walking in New York, I see people on sidewalk who are not in New York. I am invisible as they back into me to get a more panoramic view (why not use eyes?). Does the bodily contact jolt people into a reminder of physical reality? I was at MoMa yesterday, a great opportunity to be nervously close to paintings. You can see the brushstroke and the decision feels palpable. Yet viewers insist on editorializing the composition by inserting themselves and flatting a textural object into a flat image. I can go on and on about the ubiquitous cell phone photo taking rituals but I don’t because I just sound really old and self righteous. But today when I saw the photo accompanying an article about teens who won a chance to view some awesome private collection at the Museum of Natural History, I felt scared. There were a group of boys and girls taking a cell phone photo in unison of what is probably an awesome specimen of something really cool. Instead of being there, we digitize and archive. We are information gatherers, sure, but how about be a little more selfish and just consume a book, a movie, a work of art? Why filter everything out and disengage? I did not take a single photo at the MoMA yesterday so does that mean I have no memories? Actually, I do. I can zoom in and out of a Rothko in my mind and my memory of the painting is tinged with being a little hurt (I don’t know why) that my friend doesn’t care for it. I remember my legs hurting but still not being able to tear myself away from a Rauchenberg painting that reminded me of a collage piece we worked on in Mariano’s class. I remember being dazzled by the transfer drawings of Gauguin, the security guard engaging me in a conversation about it, and staying up late to try for myself the technique. Memories (life) is possible (better) without the filter of a smartphone screen. And I think we can live in a less self-absorbed culture (just a guess) if we selfishly consume more art, place, life.

An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

The New York Times Magazine Sunday, May 25, 2014