Rugged
I wouldn't call myself a rugged individual, so much as a rugged individualist.
Indeed, as I was riding the train to New York the other night I found myself completely alone simply ruing every single group of people I've come across. You name them, I hate them. There will be no e.g. here, lest I insult you.
It left me feeling a bit depressed, actually. To think, I hate every group of people out there. It lasted a while until I realized that it wasn't people on the whole that I hate, it's groups of them. We've known this for years. As Tommy Lee Jones once said, "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it."
Fortunately the streets of this fine city dispensed quick redemption as I made my way to Thursday night gallery openings. While the people involved with these openings were the most apparent of the individualist nature of the night, the unseen artists were my true heroes.
For the former, nearing the end of the night with much booze in my system, I entered a gallery with a wall-sized display of mirrors and lights, which everyone was staring at. Except one guy stood in front of it facing the other direction, drinking a can of PBR. I asked him, without turning around myself, if there was any art back there. He said he was looking at the real show. I've felt it many times myself: the majesty of these gallery openings is the crowd that attends them. The beauty of this moment was, however, how a single man got me to appreciate it.
For the latter, imagine a large gallery filled with vivid pictures of LA from 1979. A clever time capsule. The pictures were similar to all urban photo shows: unseeming streetscapes which are just beautiful if you stop to see them. Once again, the crowd, or a more abstract version of it, the city, shown to be beautiful by one clever individual.
I've always supported admitting the nature of reality as soon as possible, no matter how brutal. The fact is that crowds make up reality, but individuals are the ones who perceive it.
Indeed, as I was riding the train to New York the other night I found myself completely alone simply ruing every single group of people I've come across. You name them, I hate them. There will be no e.g. here, lest I insult you.
It left me feeling a bit depressed, actually. To think, I hate every group of people out there. It lasted a while until I realized that it wasn't people on the whole that I hate, it's groups of them. We've known this for years. As Tommy Lee Jones once said, "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it."
Fortunately the streets of this fine city dispensed quick redemption as I made my way to Thursday night gallery openings. While the people involved with these openings were the most apparent of the individualist nature of the night, the unseen artists were my true heroes.
For the former, nearing the end of the night with much booze in my system, I entered a gallery with a wall-sized display of mirrors and lights, which everyone was staring at. Except one guy stood in front of it facing the other direction, drinking a can of PBR. I asked him, without turning around myself, if there was any art back there. He said he was looking at the real show. I've felt it many times myself: the majesty of these gallery openings is the crowd that attends them. The beauty of this moment was, however, how a single man got me to appreciate it.
For the latter, imagine a large gallery filled with vivid pictures of LA from 1979. A clever time capsule. The pictures were similar to all urban photo shows: unseeming streetscapes which are just beautiful if you stop to see them. Once again, the crowd, or a more abstract version of it, the city, shown to be beautiful by one clever individual.
I've always supported admitting the nature of reality as soon as possible, no matter how brutal. The fact is that crowds make up reality, but individuals are the ones who perceive it.
posted by Owen Martin | 12:13 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home