A what in a box?

Last night I was invited to meet up with a friend at the Museum of Fine Art in Houston to take part in the perks of free admission on Thursday.  After some initial confusion as to which museum we were supposed to meet at, I assumed science while she assumed art, we finally made it to the right spot.  Our time was split mostly between two exhibits, Color Into Light: Selections from the MFAH Collection and Indonesian Gold Gallery.  Both exhibits were enjoyable, but Color Into Light held pieces and installations that still have me amazed today.

Bill Viola’s Ascension is particularly noteworthy for the spectrum of feelings his work creates using a 10-minute video and dark room.  From a few yards away I noticed an small room containing a bench and a video of bubbles playing on a deep blue screen.  This immediately intrigued me due to my affinity for the ocean and water in general.  I walked into the room, sat on the bench, and imagined myself breathing in the deepest, bluest depths.  The ambient noise of bubbles and water slowly faded and soon the screen was a very dark blue.  It was hard to resist the relaxation, so I remained on the bench with my friend eventually taking a seat beside me.  We sat quietly chatting as I explained how the bubbles drew me into the room.  Suddenly, a man plunges into the water on the screen causing me to jump.

From Bill Viola's "Ascension"

From Bill Viola's Ascension

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Me and My Melancholy Whores goes best with nudity and hot water.

It’s a pretty good read (Memories of My Melancholy Whores), especially at the end of the day when you’re just trying to unwind.  If you don’t read in the tub, I highly recommend it.  Here are some of my favorite parts:

“…I cut her off:  Sex is the consolation you have when you can’t have love.” (69)

“I felt so happy that I would kiss her eyelids with very gentle kisses, and one night it happened like a light in the sky: she smiled for the first time.” (77)

“I kept interrupting whatever I was doing to call her, and I repeated this for days on end until I realized it was a phone without a heart.” (83)

“I always had understood that dying of love was mere poetic license.  That afternoon, back home again without the cat and without her, I proved that it was not only possible but that I myself, an old man without anyone, was dying of love.  But I also realized that the contrary was true as well:  I would not have traded the delights of my suffering for anything in the world.  I had spent more than fifteen years trying to translate the poems of Leopardi, and only on that afternoon did I have a profound sense of them: Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.” (84)

“I’ve always said that jealousy knows more than truth does.” (93)

“But then she was serious:  Today I look back, I see the line of thousands of men who passed through my beds, and I’d give my soul to have stayed with even the worst of them.  Thank God I found my Chinaman in time.  It’s like being married to your little finger, but he’s all mine.” (99)

“…even if what your jealousy tells you is true, no matter what, nobody can take away the dances you’ve already had…I’m serious she concluded:  Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love.” (100)

Read it.

Read it.