Monday, November 7, 2011

Hello dear love, is that you - digging, diving, reaching, grasping? I am here, silent on the other side of the glass, flesh-toned (the reason oil paints were invented, according to deKooning), limbs extended, torso poised and balanced against a grounding ball.

I slept well last night, figured out, before going to bed, that ambient light and scattered lit electronics had disrupted my sleep; that, and I had been too cold my first night here, because in the flurry of throwing essentials in a bag I'd forgotten to pack something to sleep in. The first night I slept nude, but the covers weren't quite warm enough... hence - all of the above - sleeplessness.

Last night, a cashmere tee (a good one, that I don't normally sleep in), a doubled quilt, bedchamber drapes drawn against the glow from the other room, with its luminous windows and flickering machines...

I slept well, and had vivid dreams, that I wish I could remember, they seemed especially narrative, and included you, or maybe not, or 1.0 --- they've vanished now, but even as one of them was occurring, in a writerly way, it was very verbal, as though I was reading or writing words (simultaneously) even as I was dreaming them - I had the sense, oh! I should try to write this down, it's really good, it's got at something ---

I've had a wonderful day, truly.  (It's just now, a little overtired, that I've been feeling a little brittle, a little fretful, like a baby that needs a nap or to be fed. It feels mostly physical - though I don't know - how does one separate the "form" from the "field" - something that deKooning's paintings, many of them, uncannily merge. Yes, I am physically tired, and yet certain themes, permutations, do work on my mind, and my mind works on my mood...)

Going about the city today, I saw quite a number of extremely lean & fit men - girlfriends, wives, daughters, et al, in tow - sporting blue ribboned-medals from yesterday's marathon. How many runners receive these medals, I wonder? I saw at least a half-dozen.

One was at Anthropologie, an extremely virile, lean, alert specimen - European I believe - there with his wife or girlfriend. Sporting (sort of discreetly, wearing it nonetheless) the ribbon as his S.O. shopped - a looker herself, from what I saw as I browsed (from longstanding habit) the sales shelves of housewares... And I saw this man quite lewdly check out a woman who walked past. She was slim, dressed in a formfitting black pants suit, ponytailed - his look was so raw, after her! I had a mix of emotions about it. I marveled at his energy. Yesterday's marathoners are up & at 'em today, playing tourist, walking (not running) over the Brooklyn Bridge; shopping. He was there with his good looking S.O. ... When I looked his way again he was gone, as if he'd darted away - and then I saw that he seemed to have actually followed the brisk pants-suited wonder - whose back had been to him the entire time.  I don't believe she had any awareness that this particular man had had a reaction to her (though obviously she's not oblivious to her effect, she was quite put-together, costumed, in her way). His look was hungry, silently lascivious (short of, as in the Almodovar, licking the screen), and I wondered at his sheer stamina - he ran a marathon yesterday, was medaled for it, here he is at Anthropologie shopping with presumably his main squeeze - and there's energy left over?

(The cute guys - nice, normal looking guys around my age - approvingly checking me out the other day in the neighborhood, in passing - the medaled ones today weren't checking me out, far from it - I was invisible to them. No matter - I'm not attracted to them - not at all!)

You may have gathered that I organized myself to go to MOMA for the deKooning exhibit. I had a desire to try to fill my mind with fresh images of created art that might work their alchemy on my imagination (before I return upstate "to the aerie" with its rather unvaried bag of tricks, upon which I develop variations).

In the back of my mind I'd hoped to come across there, on another floor, one of Picasso's drawings, or a collage, that means so much to us... not to be had, not on display at the museum these days, according to the docent - thank goodness, then, for the internet, so as to see them

Early this morning, before any of the rest of the day ensued, I had an amazing time with you, in the crepuscular dark, and the luxury of utter privacy, quieter toy, and Monday morning traffic

What do I think of deKooning? I can't possibly answer that, though at the same time I was glad to see 200 of his works - the lifetime of his oeuvre displayed on the walls. I don't have a special feeling for him, his art, particularly - but I could appreciate, in the mounting of this exhibition, a comprehensive view - and I availed myself too of the free audio guides, stopping at various paintings -- if only to make myself slow down & look.

In the body of his entire output - I think I caught a glimpse (behind the layers of white, or embedded charcoal, or dripping paint from all four or more angles of a canvas) - of the man, who he was, as reflected

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