Today was the first full day of the Henry Darger show at the Frye Museum. I have had a long fixation with Darger- something about his sad life and obsession really ...obsesses me...
I hadn't expected the paintings to be so large. And so small at the same time. I've never really gotten over the whole element of scale and art. I grew up seeing things only in books- and didn't see the actual pieces until I was 18. And even then it came as a revelation.
Franz Kline was tremendous in a book, and a revelation in person. Ditto Robert Motherwell. And Rauschenberg. The one that really rocked my world was the first time I saw an El Greco in person. I had always hated pictures of his stuff. It just looked like bad anatomy to me. But I saw a room full of his paintings, and have never forgotten the impact. I was slapped across the face by the greens. By the intensity of the emotion in the eyes. And all in paintings over 500 years old.
Then I became a museum junky. Still am sort of. But not as much- because...well just because. The best ever were the Vermeers. We went from Phoenix to DC for the Vermeer show. And were snowed in in Fairfax for a week. Because we came during a blizzard. I thought- big deal. They can handle a little snow. Well, I was a dumbass. They could not handle a little snow. And this wasn't a little snow. It was a fuckload of snow. And it sucked. At least there were over 100 channels on the tv, and the grocery store was only 1 mile away.
But when we did escape and saw the Vermeers, I almost forgot to breathe. Never seen the like. Never will again. And that's really ok. I don't want to experience the same thing over. Because it can't be the same. It was worth it. Glad we went.
So Darger...damn. Hard to put into words. Seeing obsession on that scale is almost too intimate. Like seeing someone naked- and not really wanting to. Like seeing them in the bathroom. And REALLY not wanting to. I kept wanting to make his life better. Wanting him to have been happier. And then realizing that this was stupid. It would've ensured that he wouldn't have created his art. It would've been stupid, because he might've been destined for this. If destiny is something that actually exists.
The Frye has impressed me- first Mark Ryden, now Darger. And they had a musical clog exhibit. Just what it sounds like. Clogs that make music. Happy and sad all in one day.
And beer. Because what's a visit to Capital Hill without a trip to Elysium Brewery? It won't happen on Kenga's watch. Delicious, delicious cask conditioned Porter....
Then a book store. Because I loves to look at the discount books whilst buzzing. And then Kenga and I did something we've NEVER done before. We almost bought the same book. Alarming. So I let him buy it. Because he never buys books. And it's good for him. And I spent my money today on beer. And a book on Symbols and Allegories in Art from the museum. Before the beer kicked in...
Now I will go and read all about symbols and allegories. Until the beer makes me sleepy. Then, no doubt, I will dream of threatened little girls with penises being chased around by cowboys...
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5 comments:
ha! i was LIVING in Fairfax during that blizzard. thanks for clearing it up; it was fucking 3.5 ft. of snow that fell in 29 hrs. and we were snowed in for almost 7 days.
i ended up throwing away my tickets to the Vermeer show; and fortunately caught it in Holland a few months later, after it had finished its rounds in the States.
Yes. El Greco.
Yes!
Ask Picasso and Dali what an influence he was on their work.
Now that's almost creepy. Same place, same town, same snowstorm. But then I suppose there are millions who were effected, so not so creepy. The trip goes down in our story book as the worst vacation ever. But there were shining moments. Like View of Delft. And Woman with the Scales. And then I really owed the boy for the next vacation. (he got to choose, of course- since my judgement was so damned bad)
i've lived in the DC area for 20 odd years. Fairfax (Vienna, actually) was the nicest place i ever lived. the rest was all in the hoods.
that fucking snowstorm got me out of commission for a week straight. since i was doing freelance work, i lost a week's pay.
fucker God.
We ate. Then we took naps. Then we watched tv. Then if our shoes were dry enough, and the wind had died down, we would hike the mile to the store. Then we would go home, shuck the wet clothes, and wait for the snow to melt. And watch tv. All the while arguing about whose fault this all was. And hating that we couldn't do 90% of the things we wanted to do while on vacation. It sucked ass. And not in a good way, either.
at that time we didn't have cable and living in a 1 bedroom apt. that was all of 475 sq. ft. our tv reception came from an old-school antenna on top of the roof--i.e. it was shit.
we actually had fun going crazy together. at one point we had set up some sort of bowling alley inside the hallway and were rolling home made bowling balls (made of hundreds of rubber bands). i remember a pillow fight which turned quite amorous and uh...risquee.
so see? we actually had fun. i wish you could've too.
it still sucked bollocks that i missed a week's pay, though. we were poor as shit as it was, then.
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