I took myself on a little Central Park + museum date the other day, because I’m the love of my life. The sun was out. The weather was delicious. A little frolic in New York City to get some inspiration was in order. I obliged. I was pumped.
I put on a cute outfit. I felt confident and happy—in this incredibly horrendous time that we are existing in, and the exhausting awareness of our passive complicity and utter powerlessness in the face of a genocide that is being broadcast to us non-stop—sometimes you have to STOP SCROLLING and choose your mental health. You have to put on a cute outfit and smoke some sativa and go for a fucking walk on a gorgeous day and see nature and art and people and just detach, disassociate.
Sometimes you need to get wired and inspired and write it down because maybe it’s gold or maybe it’s shit, but either way, you jot your thoughts because it makes you feel present and alive. Maybe they’re downloads from the Universe or the seeds of a joke I might tell someday. Who knows? Who knows anything? A meteor could hit the Earth’s core tomorrow.
If you’d like to peel back the layers of my brain and take a fractured jaunt through my mind, here are the notes presented *mostly* without explanation.
Gwen & Peter, are you OK? I love modern art as much as the next guy, but you have to wonder who buys this type of “art.” These are literal jars of human hair and skin; aside from Hannibal Lecter, I can’t imagine anyone displaying such a thing in their home. That’s usually reserved for serial killing shut-ins, not wealthy purveyors of the Arts. What’s the conversation like when you show your house guests? Do you put them in their own room or just randomly on a shelf? How much did you pay for this? Was it between this and the pile of sand with a gumdrop in the middle? I have so many questions.
I saw this cool-looking woman walking around the museum. She had a unique style, big baggy jeans, her gray hair in a top knot, and thick black-rimmed frames. Red lips. She seemed like someone I would know somewhere in the multi-verse. I saw her sitting in a chair at one point, and I decided to tell her that I liked her style and her general demeanor. She smiled and said, “Thank you. I left it at that. I noticed how nervous and exhilarated I felt in my skin; it seemed like it took more courage than I had anticipated to just walk up to a stranger and give them a compliment. In a world full of “cringe,” detachment, and mostly virtual encounters, a human connection feels…novel.
Fig.2 - That hand on her waist...I love it when a man puts his hand there. The caption reads: “In love and trying to stay out of trouble.” Perfect.
Fig. 3 - Man Ray is a vibe
Fig.4 - Also, Man Ray, and hey, isn’t that the Cigarettes After Sex album cover?
I recently watched a TikTok where this girl was explaining that the way you walk around has an effect on those around you. She says she creates a character of a woman who is beloved by all; men want to do things for her, and women want to be her friend, and she’s found that on most occasions, it works. She’ll be assuming that character in a Target and male staff give her things at a discount, and female shoppers stop her to ask about her lipgloss.
I decided I’d try it. However, the character I chose was a spy or a con artist. A member of the Ocean’s 8. I walked around like I was casing the joint. I’d count security cameras. I’d nod to the guards. I take stock of my surroundings noticing clues. It’s dumb but it’s fun. I don’t think this had the intended effect, however. I probably just looked suspect and deranged.
There was a deep and unsettling scent of manure in the Jackson Pollock room. Is that what old paint on a garage tarp smells like?
This is the last noted pot thought of the day.
And now a breakdown of some stuff I saw at the MoMA.
Fig 6. - There are metal jars in the room with the hair and skin; they have words like Tears, Blood, Bile, and Urine on them. I gravitated toward Tears.
Fig. 7 + Fig. 8 - Mars Volta and Where have all the Cowboys gone? IYKYK
Fig.9 - My worst nightmare.
Fig. 10 - I’m always drawn to this painting. ‘The Poet Max Herrmann-Neisse’ by George Grosz. I can’t figure out why.
Fig. 11- These big blocks are still there. I don't see the art here. Sue me.
Fig. 12 - This room had beads of incense cascading above an altar. The placard said something about the artist trying to create a visceral experience. They accomplished it. This room feels very reverent and peaceful. The incense is POTENT.
Fig. 13 - A room set up to look like a bunker in the 80’s probably a piece about the Cold War. I just liked it for the nostalgia. I’m a nut for some nostalgia, boy.
I can’t stress this enough: if you’re lucky enough to live in a walking city, a sprawling Metropolis with institutes of art and experiences at your fingertips, and if you have the means to get lost there for a few hours by yourself—take advantage of it. Take some notes, or don’t. Just spend some time alone with some stimuli and your thoughts. There’s absolutely no way you’d be worse for it.
(Highly recommend a mind-enhancing aid of your choice to go with it.)
xo
I'm hoping you go to another museum soon. This was fun, enlightening, honest. Also, it's my day off and I'm gonna take you on this. I'm gonna get cute and sexy and join the real world.
Loved following the museum thoughts 👏🏻 this was so cool and funny and a nice reminder that I need to get to more museums.