Still, that landscape is the place my mind summons when I’m asked (usually in some yogic or meditative context, now that I live in Los Angeles) to close my eyes and “imagine a scene of total peace and serenity.” In those moments, I picture the Rothko-like blocks of earth and sky, the psychedelic sunsets, the sublime loneliness of a single cottonwood punctuating acres of flat prairie. I remember the sound of golf ball-size hail hitting the roof and denting the car. I remember sitting on the front porch and watching a lightning storm that was miles away but cracked the whole night open nonetheless. It was there, under that sky and at the mercy of all that weather, that I began to understand the concept of a wrathful God. In Nebraska, storms are a violence from which no amount of caution or privilege can protect you. Their warnings crawl across television screens in every season. They’ll blow you or freeze you or blind you into submission. They’ll force you into some kind of faith.
I haven’t thought about Joy Division in at least a year, and then in the last 24 hours I’ve found like 3 references to them. Odd, but cool.
Tara Donovan, Untitled (detail), 2008
Tara Donovan has an exhibition up at MCASD through the end of February. I am DEFINITELY planning a trip to San Diego soon. How could I not? It’s the same show that ICA Boston planned last year that I was drooling over.
Tara Donovan is such an inspiration.
Also, ICA is by far my favorite museum I have been to in Boston + New York. Yes, better than the MOMA. It doesn’t cover such a wide spectrum of works (just ones that perfectly match my tastes and interests, I guess), and that’s what makes it so successful. And how could you beat free Thursday nights?
Last year they also had main exhibits by Anish Kapoor and Shepard Fairey. Both were great, especially the Anish Kapoor exhibit.
I need to get there again soon.
"Still, that landscape is the place my mind summons when I’m asked (usually in some yogic or meditative context, now that I live in Los Angeles) to close my eyes and “imagine a scene of total peace and serenity.” In those moments, I picture the Rothko-like blocks of earth and sky, the psychedelic sunsets, the sublime loneliness of a single cottonwood punctuating acres of flat prairie. I remember the sound of golf ball-size hail hitting the roof and denting the car. I remember sitting on the front porch and watching a lightning storm that was miles away but cracked the whole night open nonetheless. It was there, under that sky and at the mercy of all that weather, that I began to understand the concept of a wrathful God. In Nebraska, storms are a violence from which no amount of caution or privilege can protect you. Their warnings crawl across television screens in every season. They’ll blow you or freeze you or blind you into submission. They’ll force you into some kind of faith."
Robert Currie