| | I'm in love with New York. Everyone knew it was an inevitability, but the going through of the motions was still a necessity. It was like Chicago, only with (what I suspect will continue to be) slightly less brutal weather, more trees, more bicycles, more art, & more coffee. I was so happy here, until I went there; & now I pine. I scheme & plot & dream. I've been ruined. (Of course, all these increased cool factors come with many additionally required dollar bills...)
Actually, the weekend wasn't nearly so dramatic. I was not knocked off my feet. My jaw did not drop upon stepping off the plane. My life was not changed in a tangible way. I just felt like I was home, like I was in a place where I fit & was someone & yet part of some incomprehensible whole. It made me simultaneously miss Chicago & desire to continue my independent adventures in this new Chicago-esque place.
MoMA very nearly made me cry. Seeing Seurat as a terrible beginner sketching compositions that I could easily keep up with; standing inches away from Les Demoiselles d'Avignon; taking terrible digital photographs of the Campbell Soup cans from every angle; knowing that history & art were alive--it was all priceless. I was so overwhelmed that I kept experiencing something very like an impending fit of hysteria.
Sufjan unquestionably made me cry. Sufjan with film, which will always have my artistic heart. Sufjan with the piano--my musical heart. Sufjan with an orchestra. Sufjan with hula hoopers. Sufjan happy & comfortable & immeasurably silly...I felt, sitting rows & rows away, as if I knew him & as if God was in the chair next to me.
I don't even know where to go from here...
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| | Posted 11/8/2007 12:55 AM - 34 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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