New York friends, come and see another of Grosse’s pieces installed in the courtyard spaces along Myrtle Promenade at Jay Street/Metrotech. They look amazing protruding through the snow!
By Katharina Grosse, these huge, beautiful sculptural installations utilise their environment by being painted in situ making each set-up entirely unique. I feel torn between thinking of a martian landscape, or a Lovecraftian fifth dimension.
Love these Katharina shots of her One Floor Up More Highly show in our Building 5.
I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.
I could be walking down the street one day, blasting Rihanna or Fleetwood Mac, jamming so hard that I don’t see the bus coming. I could be walking with a book in my hand, reading until the very end. I could be paying total and complete attention, imagine the impact before it arrives.
And I’d really, really rather not die with some confusing statement I said sitting in the phone or the thoughts or the memory of someone I know, care about, need.
I know how it is—we all want to be mysterious. None of us want to get hurt. None of us want to look desperate. So we wait to respond to texts, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages, Tweets. So we communicate our emotions in how we end our messages (no period this time? Really gonna get them.). So we say vague, half-statements and expect people to read our minds.
But what if we died?
What if the last thing you ever texted that girl was, “I don’t know, whenever,” when she asked when she should come over, even though you really really wanted to see her right now? What if you were head-over-heels in lust with some beautiful human in your Lit. class but you chose to wait 15 seconds before texting them back, only to never get the chance to text them at all?
Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.
But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.
And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.
We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.
We never know when the bus is coming.
Rachel C. Lewis (via anditslove)
gets me every time. conventional gender norms be damned.
Through such experiments, Lee seems preoccupied by the need to make this familiar form something different from what we think it is, so that it can more capably capture a reality that has fast been veering into the unreal. It’s not just that the world outside the novel has made this jump, but also that we cannot evade the world’s strangeness when the storytellers, and the characters into which they breathe life, increasingly come from such different perspectives.
Come see the 3D edition and talk with Chang-rae Lee at the MakerBot store, 298 Mulberry Street in Manhattan on Thursday, January 16 at 7:00pm.
The Goldfinch for Kindle is $2.99 on Amazon today. Get on that.
If you have a Kindle and you haven’t read this, do it. I re-read the end last night and I can’t get over it.
Currently reading. Can’t put it down.
Can’t wait to read The Goldfinch!
Read half of it on the plane home from Stockholm yesterday. Made sitting in the middle seat between someone with a sinus infection and someone with bad gas totally bearable. I guess that’s faint praise. But the book is awesome, can’t put it down. :)
Don’t rake up my mistakes / I know exactly what they are
And we are all just asking for a little mercy.
Once, I was talking with one of my aunts about my choice to move to New York. She nodded in a way that suggested she was, unlike everybody else, completely unsurprised. “You always were a city girl.”
"You left your tired family grieving / and you think they’re sad because you’re leaving / but did you see / jealousy in the eyes of the ones who had to stay behind? / and do you think you’ve made the right decision / this time?"