Just another Day in New York: Neil Gaiman, Laurie Anderson, Mythology and Himalayan Art
I've often opined that while I love New York City, I probably couldn't live there. I think I need the relative seclusion of a city like Worcester, a place where I can have most of the comforts of urban living -- good restaurants, good bands playing, a real poetry scene --with the ability to very easily hide away and not get overwhelmed. Worcester's great because I'm a quick drive to slightly more metropolitan cities such as Boston or Providence, and a doable distance to New York. I visit enough that I have a relationship with the city, albeit a fairly casual one. But make no mistake: I dearly, dearly love New York, and am happy for any opportunity to spend time there. Even my more frustrating trips to NYC -- such as when I was down there for a business a decade-plus ago, trying to launch a magazine -- have always had good takeaways, something fairly magical to hold onto.
Yesterday was no exception. Lea and I ventured down to The Rubin Museum of Art, in Chelsea, to see a discussion on "Ignorance" by novelist Neil Gaiman and performance artist Laurie Anderson in the museums "Fact & Fiction" series. We had bought our tickets months ago, and the 150-odd-seat theater was sold out. And deservedly so: It was a riveting conversation between two fantastic artists who didn't know each other, but who are both great minds and sharp wits ... and most importantly, obsessed with stories ... how they work, how they interact with the world. I'm going to be processing that discussion for a long time, and won't do any justice to it trying to capture it here, save that I walked away with a head full of Greek, Chinese and Icelandic folktales and a plethora of thoughts and observations about the artistic process. I'd go on, but it would all come out flat, and not the wildfire that was in my head when I left the museum. Like I said,l it's going to take a long time for me to process it all. Part of me feels like my head was rewired. But that had begun even before the discussion started, because The Rubin Museum is, quite frankly, staggering.
Taking up six floors, the collection is drawn mostly from India, Nepal, Tibet, Myanmar and Sri Lanka. Is it odd to say a museum feels holy? The collection mostly centers on Buddhist and Hindu themes, and piece after piece filled me with a reverence I've not often encountered. Much like Gaiman's and Anderson's discussion, I finished out exploration feeling like I knew more about that part of the world than I ever had before, and yet I felt like I knew nothing. Or perhaps more precisely, I now knew how little I knew.
In his light confection of a song "Say Hey (I Love You)," Michael Franti sings "seems like everywhere I go/the more I see the less I know." I've long known that to be true. When I was in my 20s, I thought I was so smart. Now, in my 40s, I feel like sometimes I don't know a damn thing. The more I think I've seen of the world, the more I keep being reminded that I've only seen a few drops of the ocean it has to offer. But I want to drink more of it. Oh, goodness, yes. I don't think I'm ready to stop exploring, and learning.
On a personal note, it was lovely seeing Anderson so soon after Lou Reed's death. I've read the obituaries she wrote for her late husband, and had a sense that she's at peace, but there's still nothing quite like seeing a person with your own eyes to ascertain that they're OK. It feels odd to care about a stranger like that, but there you are. And as for Gaiman, it was not only a joy to see him, as always, it was a joy to see him having so much fun. He was clearly overjoyed with the experience, and during the book signing afterward -- a Neil Gaiman signing that didn't have a line around the block! -- he and Lea got to commiserate over geeking out about being in Anderson's presence (and how her voice really is that amazing when she's simply in conversation.)
All told, an amazing evening. I have tentative plans to be back in new York a couple times early next year for poetry events ... looking forward to visiting again. I always miss it when I'm gone.
Yesterday was no exception. Lea and I ventured down to The Rubin Museum of Art, in Chelsea, to see a discussion on "Ignorance" by novelist Neil Gaiman and performance artist Laurie Anderson in the museums "Fact & Fiction" series. We had bought our tickets months ago, and the 150-odd-seat theater was sold out. And deservedly so: It was a riveting conversation between two fantastic artists who didn't know each other, but who are both great minds and sharp wits ... and most importantly, obsessed with stories ... how they work, how they interact with the world. I'm going to be processing that discussion for a long time, and won't do any justice to it trying to capture it here, save that I walked away with a head full of Greek, Chinese and Icelandic folktales and a plethora of thoughts and observations about the artistic process. I'd go on, but it would all come out flat, and not the wildfire that was in my head when I left the museum. Like I said,l it's going to take a long time for me to process it all. Part of me feels like my head was rewired. But that had begun even before the discussion started, because The Rubin Museum is, quite frankly, staggering.
Taking up six floors, the collection is drawn mostly from India, Nepal, Tibet, Myanmar and Sri Lanka. Is it odd to say a museum feels holy? The collection mostly centers on Buddhist and Hindu themes, and piece after piece filled me with a reverence I've not often encountered. Much like Gaiman's and Anderson's discussion, I finished out exploration feeling like I knew more about that part of the world than I ever had before, and yet I felt like I knew nothing. Or perhaps more precisely, I now knew how little I knew.
In his light confection of a song "Say Hey (I Love You)," Michael Franti sings "seems like everywhere I go/the more I see the less I know." I've long known that to be true. When I was in my 20s, I thought I was so smart. Now, in my 40s, I feel like sometimes I don't know a damn thing. The more I think I've seen of the world, the more I keep being reminded that I've only seen a few drops of the ocean it has to offer. But I want to drink more of it. Oh, goodness, yes. I don't think I'm ready to stop exploring, and learning.
On a personal note, it was lovely seeing Anderson so soon after Lou Reed's death. I've read the obituaries she wrote for her late husband, and had a sense that she's at peace, but there's still nothing quite like seeing a person with your own eyes to ascertain that they're OK. It feels odd to care about a stranger like that, but there you are. And as for Gaiman, it was not only a joy to see him, as always, it was a joy to see him having so much fun. He was clearly overjoyed with the experience, and during the book signing afterward -- a Neil Gaiman signing that didn't have a line around the block! -- he and Lea got to commiserate over geeking out about being in Anderson's presence (and how her voice really is that amazing when she's simply in conversation.)
All told, an amazing evening. I have tentative plans to be back in new York a couple times early next year for poetry events ... looking forward to visiting again. I always miss it when I'm gone.
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