To take a break from thinking about it, I want to write this. I was listening to a really interesting song about presenting art to your mother. Zeca Baleiro and Ze Ramalho. It reminded me of a story that happened in Madrid at the museum. I as at the Reina Sofia. I knew I went in to see Guernica, but I didn’t want to bypass all the other art just to beeline for it. I wanted to savor the workup to seeing it. Bear in mind this is me a couple of days before presenting a conference paper on art and war. I was beyond hyped for it. The foreplay was essential, though.
The museum is large, but it’s not enormous. I realized I could see every single room. I had a good 5 hours or more. I started going into every single one of them. I was staring intently, seeing, absorbing, opening myself up to every single one of the works. Full of shit or not, I was feeling it. I was making love to the space. Kissing its toes.
It became a rhythm. Stepping one step to the side. Adjusting my squint according to the size of the next piece and leaning in more or less depending on the distance the piece called for. Then it happened: this one…. step, look, think,ponder, step, this one… hmmmm…. this one……
It took me a good 5 seconds to realize I was starting at the message hanging over the fire alarm.
Do I need to explain anything here? I mean… Laugh. C’mon. Laugh with me. Laugh at the critic. I chuckle every single time I remember it.
The dangers and the delights of thinking too hard and opening yourself up for whatever.
I’m glad to stare at messages over fire alarms and feel things.
I love things, things. It’s okay if you are fire alarm messages sometimes. Take advantage of my liking things, things. Because sometimes I don’t. And nope. Not a cryptic message here. Just a shoutout to things when I notice them.