Several things about my tiny jaunt to the Midwest�
At the Museum of Contemporary Art, in Chicago, there was a piece � a performance art piece � that involved two exceedingly ordinary people, a woman and a man, very slowly, very carefully, in very measured movements, making out.
It was embarrassing to watch at first and second and third glance, because of the tiny, miniscule glint of forced sexuality, until I steeled myself, �It�s art, dammit,� I thought, and stood still and looked. After a minute, it wasn�t really sexual anymore, and there wasn�t anymore tenderness, or rhythm and the only thing I could find mildly interesting about the whole ordeal was the actor�s ability to move that slowly and hold their poses without stumbling or bumping heads or, horrors, giggling. It wasn�t beautiful. And then I just got frustrated, because I didn�t understand it, and I hate feeling stupid. Art shouldn�t make me feel stupid. But then, that�s me pinning it on the piece, isn�t it? And that�s not right, either. Regardless, I kind of feel like the artist was sort of having us on�
I�ve come to terms with the fact that just because I don�t get that a piece is important doesn�t mean it isn�t, and just because I don�t like it doesn�t make it bad or unappealing. Knowing that, remembering that, has allowed me to appreciate the importance of art, and find beauty where I didn�t even know where to look before.
Was it art? God, I don�t know. Am I supposed to like it or hate it? I don�t know that either. I can tell you that I didn�t like it, but my reasons seem rather infantile. Mostly, I didn�t see the point. I thought art was supposed to inspire thought and insight, or possibly open up new pathways of ideas. There should be a reason it�s important, shouldn�t there? There should be a reason the MCA reserved a whole room for Dick and Jane over there. Shouldn�t there? I mean, beyond wondering if he was ever going to get to second base.
My learned friend Stella would kick my ass if I was speaking these words and she was within earshot. Still, though. Why can�t it all just be soup cans and mobiles and Parisians in the rain?
* * *
It is not often that I trust my own mind to find the hard truths.
Sometimes, I get the odd, unsettling feeling about the friends I love so much, who live so far away. Would we love each other so fiercely if we were within coffee distance? Would we survive each other�s quirks, and get over our frustrations?
Then I dismiss the worry and remember that we lived together once, and we continue to count the months and years between visits. When our worlds fall apart, our long-distance bills go up. We may want to throw each other into traffic, but that doesn�t mean we wouldn�t lay down in it for each other.
Sometimes, the hard truths sound like eccentric Hallmarks. Still, they�re good to know.
* * *
I wore for the first time, with great apprehension, a strapless top. What�s more, a third of the back was cut away from it, and it was the most skin I�ve shown in public since I used to run around the yard with no clothes on. It was a risk I�d take only with the ones I loved. One girl�s strapless shirt is another�s stab at, I don�t know, skydiving.
Stella and Joe both assured me that I looked fine. To be precise, they said, �You look fine. You look good. For the last time, yes, you look fine, Jesus Christ, don�t make me hit you!� Then Aric squealed, �Look at you!� and let me do a little twirl. In the end, it was well-received in three rainbow bars, a bathroom I shared with a boy who shrieked, �Well glory-be, a genuine peephole!� and asked me where I hailed from while he peed; and got a hey-aay by the boys in the coat-check line.
Honestly, there are reasons I spend two hours staring at myself in the mirror, and none of them involve attention issues.
* * *
Cloud Gate.
That�s the name of the colossal, silver reflective bean-shaped piece I�ve wanted a look at since I first learned the thing existed. I suppose it�s a sculpture, or possibly a structure; it takes up a lot of space and probably needs a lot of polishing. You can walk around it, and under it, and look up and see curved nothing forever.
Curved nothing forever can be gorgeous. It was gorgeous. It was one of the most, gorgeous, breath-taking creations ever presented by man. Before you die, go to Chicago and spend a lot of time at the silver bean. Then, give me a call and tell me what you thought.
* * *
Honestly, you guys, it was so fun. I laughed with my friends, and had a Chicago dog, and went on a wild road trip out of state for a two-day party in a house the size of a Vegas casino. I had cocktails in the sky, danced a two-step, and sang show tunes with two hundred gay men. I stayed up late and got up early, and saw art that broke my heart, it was so beautiful.
I really ought to do that more often. You too, I think.
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