A monsoon.<\/p>\n
And the Diane Arbus show at the Met. She wrote:<\/p>\n
Nothing is ever the same as they said it was. It’s what I’ve never seen before that I recognise. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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<\/i> 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.<\/p>\n
I’m still thinking about her work. No conclusions. I think that may be one of Arbus’ points, although I am not sure.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
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:<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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?”<\/p>\n
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 <\/i>to happen. You can interpret all you want, fine, intellectualize it if that comforts you. But just know, that you are only guessing<\/i>. Interpretation is not required.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
We spent hours in that world today. Looking at all those people. And then staggering out into the Manhattan monsoon.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 … Continue reading