Saturday, October 27, 2018

O h


I can keep living here if it keeps raining like this, which it won't, but the air is so fresh right now I can smile the ocean from . . . one mile away.

Can you believe I was involved in a performance art piece yesterday? "Involved", in a minor capacity .  I wanted to tell you as soon as I came back, but I was too tired. As I sat there watching the double panel film, I began to wonder if museum can exalt any message, or that there are only so few platforms left that are suitable for a strong voice, contrary to what it seems. Yeah, I mean, there is evidence.

And there was a wall of text that spoke my mind. I didn't have time to check out the introduction before I got invited to participate in the performance art thing - I really should, because I don't know if the artist is in agreement with the wall or against it. Common sense tells me they have to be against it. But I agreed with it. "Safe, sacred or sane". OK I found it. The wall of text is Jenny Holzer's "Inflammatory Essays", and the wall is made of the colorful originals. Nobody spent long enough in front of that wall to read all the pieces, that's my problem. People never spend enough time in front of a single artwork. They're just walking and busy being confused. No.

The other day I found out I was a hardcore leftist, if you have to label me in the American standard. There is no more question and I don't need to take any more online political test. I found out about that in an article. And yes, I suppose I am a feminist even though I would never participate in their demonstration. We act radically differently towards the same goal, that's what I learned. The modern feminist movement still focuses on deconstructionism, which I have a big problem with. But it's good to know that we're working toward the same end even though our paths are so different.

Wait. Just a second.

I don't know. I understand, I sympathize, that's all. I can't say we really share the same goal when our values are different. I know I never belong to any camp . . .  an act is an act, I suppose. An identity was solidified, and I'm actually drifting further and further away from that supposed camp .

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