Today?

A monsoon.

And the Diane Arbus show at the Met. She wrote:

Nothing is ever the same as they said it was. It’s what I’ve never seen before that I recognise.

Whatever she came from did not fit. She was a square peg. But when she tripped over that which she had never seen before (the fire eaters, and midget performers, and burlesque dancers, and retarded adults) … her work took off. She recognized these misfits, freaks and “geeks” – in a deeper and more compassionate way than she could recognize her own kind. That was her thing. It makes her work hard to take, at times, hard to look at.

It’s an enormous show, it took us hours to get through the whole thing properly. It was dense, and emotional. Also PACKED. That’s one of the many reasons why I love New York. If something is going on? Anywhere? The damn thing is PACKED. It’s also a curse, because I hate crowds, but still. I love art, I love culture, I love to know that people give a shit about things … and so in that sense, I love to see a crowd. You could barely move in the Diane Arbus exhibit. You had to inch this way, sidle that way … the place was jam-PACKED.

I’m still thinking about her work. No conclusions. I think that may be one of Arbus’ points, although I am not sure.

Her work doesn’t “mean” anything. You can’t look at it and say: “Aha, so THIS is what she is saying about modern life.” Or – hell, you COULD look at it and say that, but I believe you would be over-simplifiying things to a massive degree.

It’s important to take bad pictures. It’s the bad ones that have to do with what you’ve never done before. They can make you recognize something you hadn’t seen in a way that will make you recognize it when you see it again. — Diane Arbus

I find her work disturbing, exhilarating, embarrassing, and on many levels totally disgusting. There were certain photographs (especially of the burlesque performers in their dressing rooms, circa 1950s) where I wanted to crawl into that world. The detail! But here, I think, is what Arbus’ work is about:

We left the museum. We entered the MONSOON. We struggled with our umbrellas, we bent our heads against the wind, we started over towards Lexington.

My friend said, “It’s weird. I feel like I’m looking at everyone now like they could be a Diane Arbus portrait. Don’t you see everybody differently right now?”

Her work demands a response, sure. But not a specific response. She doesn’t demand that you think: “oh, so the plight of the so-and-so class is awful … we must all feel bad for those people …” No. It’s bleaker than that. It’s simpler. No response is demanded of you. Nothing is supposed to happen. You can interpret all you want, fine, intellectualize it if that comforts you. But just know, that you are only guessing. Interpretation is not required.

What IS required of you, though, is that you LOOK. That’s all. Just LOOK at these people. Make up your own mind, whatever. Make judgments, pass judgment, be judgmental, fine – it’s a natural condescending response to those who are different from us. But you must LOOK. Just LOOK at these people.

We spent hours in that world today. Looking at all those people. And then staggering out into the Manhattan monsoon.