22 March 2011

There is a sign that says BUMP

There is a sign that says BUMP.

A man picks up his dog's shit, with his bare hands, and places it delicately by a tree.

Galleries last weekend, some work of Marcel Dzama at David Wirner - chess, war and sex, contrasts interwoven. Then Glenn Ligon (images to words, angry sad reflection on racism) and Edward Hopper (magic painter of light and people) at Witney.

I spend an hour today practicing falling-over, at various speeds, from various heights. The final 10 minutes are the hardest: a strangers holds out her right arm; I stand in front her, a little to one side. She is a blond girl, of medium build with a round face and a kind smile. I place my left hand on her wrist, and then throw myself over her arm, my feet are high in the air, and I'm still holding her wrist gently. I meet the ground first with my other arm, and then my back, finally my legs. Quickly, I stand up, and take her wrist with my other hand, and throw mayself again. Again and again.

A basement, Bar 55, the most hard-worn musicians I've ever seen play their hearts out while I drink whiskey.

It's been a fun week, culture, music, friends, explorations of Brooklyn. Work-wise I'm still frustrated by programming with a pile of sludge (C++), plotting revenge of ML (an almost brilliant language)... also looking forward to visiting Edinburgh and Oxford soon (Don't ask, I can't tell you when, it's a surprise).

No comments: