When you proceed on your course, never forget you are not alone. You have friends and family, but you also have you ancestors. Your ancestors sing in your blood. Call to them. Their strength through the ages will come into you. And then there are your spiritual ancestors. Call on them. They have set themselves up through human history to be at your disposal. Jesus, he said, “I am with you always, even into the end of the world,” Allen Ginsburg, Walt Whitman — they are with you. Choose the one you wish to walk with and he or she will walk with you. Don’t forget that you are not alone.
Patti Smith, May 2010 Commencement Address
Letter to Piet Mondrian, May 1956
‘Mondrian, if your strength can save me, it would be like a raw steak placed over this painful eye so it can see again as quickly as possible and can face this sometimes unbearable truth: the artist is a lonely person.,

Lygia Clark.

Letter to Lygia Clark, 2014
My dearest, I couldn’t resist. I am here again in front of “Contra Relevo” 1959, Industrial Paint of wood. How I crave the open space: right lower triangle expanding out to the wall. Penetrating, the white below the left black diamond half. Only a think white layer differentiates the two blacks. One dark one envy another burnt ashes. A harmonious expansion as one steps forward to find the black layers below sandwiched by ivory boards. We are part of the accordion of architectural canavas. We are alone in our own space.

I laugh because I must not cry.
Abraham Lincoln
“Abraham Lincoln Wisdom and Wit”- 1965 Peter Pauper Press
I paint flowers so they will not die.
Frida Kahlo
Magdalena Carmen Frieda Kahlo y Calderón
July 6, 1907
Coyoacán, Mexico City
Do not fall in love with people like me.
I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.
Caitlyn Siehl -
Literary Sexts: A Collection of Short & Sexy Love Poems

To be a voyeur….

It can’t only be me that is intrigued by people watching. I do it all the time, on the train, on the street; in galleries I find myself observing reactions to certain artwork just as much as the work itself. How people are when they don’t have their social shield on.  To show a genuine reaction, one has to be alone, in one’s own mind or physically; being alone is key.

At the Whitney Biennial, Michel Auder’s “I Was Looking Back To See If You Were Looking Back At Me To See Me Looking Back At You”, the work doesn’t need an explanation. A 15:12 minute film, compiled with over 30 years of recordings of overlooking into the night and dusk windows of various  neighbors.

I watched as strangers cooked, sang along, wondered, with their lovers, on their own, on the phone, in their homes. Then I started to watch the other spectators. The artwork triggered my own voyeuristic senses as I watched how people entered and left the room.

I watched for more than the 15 minutes. Some people were there longer, 5 minutes, most left before 1 minute. When a the widows were empty, people stopped watching. At the sight of a naked body, more people than would admit stayed. I watched them watching. Then… there were those that quickly left when they realized the neighbors were having sex. On one hand they leave because they are taken back. But mostly, there is a sudden awareness of communal voyeurism. Exposing our curiosity for the lives of others. This reaction was not only for the nude episodes but also for the emotional scenes. Seeing someone sad, angry, lonely, one begins to connect to fundamental human emotions simply by watching.

Michel Auder, Still from Untitled (I Was Looking Back To See If You Were Looking Back At Me To See Me Looking Back At You), 2014. © Michel Auder

Michel Auder Untitled (i was looking back to see if you were looking back at me to see me looking back at you), 2012 video, color, sound 15 minutes

Dinner in Bushwick….

(Burrito de Pollo)

A serious note on living in the art world, writing, and learning. Work with everything you have. Don’t miss your opportunities, if you do, you die. Ask questions, ask about everything. Show that you’re thinking, with concise language draw in spectators. You’re in a circus, selling popcorn in the stands don’t funk up and you’ll get in the ring one day. Think about everything, be everywhere.

On a side note, I’ve never had a burrito on a plate. Drizzled with sour cream and sauce, garnished with tomatoes. The burrito’s savage nature was stripped away or should I say, metaphorically unwrapped so as to only be visually appealing. I couldn’t pick it up, I couldn’t grip it. I ate a burrito with a fork and knife because restaurant yuppie ideals are manipulating Tex-Mex cousine to assimilate and cater to manicured hands.

Form is also color. Without color there is no form. Form and color are one.
D. Judd, “Some Aspects of Color in General and Red and Black in Particular”
What makes art (appealing)(attractive)(alluring)(seductive)(enticing)?
I tend to fall into a binary where work which I am compelled by is either visually and technically intense or it is conceptually heavy and historically tied. I review these criteria daily and I am constantly challenged by my own contradictions, which also allows for flexibility in what I write, how I react, and how I talk about it.
Today there is an uneasy play of bone piercing chilled rain with a confusing sense of “could this be spring?” syndrome. I walked into the Whitney Museum, it’s my first visit and all my senses are triggered. Do I think about the rigid brutalist architecture… cement walls, just as cold and constant as the rain? But then again… the 5th floor walls are lined with a modernist exhibit  American Legends: From Calder to O’Keeffe and the rest of the museum is invaded by the Whitney Biennial 2014. . #Museumprotip Start from the top down*.
Calder was a pleasant surprised, I hadn’t seen much well know work in a while, it’s refreshing to find myself in a historical context after (and before) the overflow of contemporary.  

Equilibrium amongst fragmented pieces, a balance of metal sheets and organic flowing form. Their colorful presence versus their distant black and white shadows.
Pomegranate, 1949. On a white pedestal 1 by 1 and 4 feet in height, stands in perfect balance a half circle curve of steel rod. It extends beyond to the right the rod curves dows and to the left the rod curves up about 2 feet. At each end there hand a combination of black and red metal sheets shaped in organic leaflets forms. The left arrangement is of eight metal sheets that are roughly 1/2 to 2 feet in size. The top two are black sheets that  curve to the right like the tip of one’s’ nail, then there is a red shape curving to the left just as organically as a leaf. Below that there is a peculiar shape, a silhouette of a tulip of black metal sheet, a bulb with three blooming points. Overall, there is balance in contradiction. The sculpture is perfectly still in the midst of its own kinetic nature. 
More on the Biennial to come, there was a lot to see and if anything, I recommend the second and third floor, the fourth was a bit disappointing… 
* Museums as temples of learning are set up to guide you and educate, from floor one to the top, one physically ascends into their ideas. When working your way down, one is not being taught but is rather learning, dissecting what was supposed to be implored on one to begin with.

What makes art (appealing)(attractive)(alluring)(seductive)(enticing)?

I tend to fall into a binary where work which I am compelled by is either visually and technically intense or it is conceptually heavy and historically tied. I review these criteria daily and I am constantly challenged by my own contradictions, which also allows for flexibility in what I write, how I react, and how I talk about it.

Today there is an uneasy play of bone piercing chilled rain with a confusing sense of “could this be spring?” syndrome. I walked into the Whitney Museum, it’s my first visit and all my senses are triggered. Do I think about the rigid brutalist architecture… cement walls, just as cold and constant as the rain? But then again… the 5th floor walls are lined with a modernist exhibit American Legends: From Calder to O’Keeffe and the rest of the museum is invaded by the Whitney Biennial 2014. . #Museumprotip Start from the top down*.

Calder was a pleasant surprised, I hadn’t seen much well know work in a while, it’s refreshing to find myself in a historical context after (and before) the overflow of contemporary.  

Equilibrium amongst fragmented pieces, a balance of metal sheets and organic flowing form. Their colorful presence versus their distant black and white shadows.

Pomegranate, 1949. On a white pedestal 1 by 1 and 4 feet in height, stands in perfect balance a half circle curve of steel rod. It extends beyond to the right the rod curves dows and to the left the rod curves up about 2 feet. At each end there hand a combination of black and red metal sheets shaped in organic leaflets forms. The left arrangement is of eight metal sheets that are roughly 1/2 to 2 feet in size. The top two are black sheets that  curve to the right like the tip of one’s’ nail, then there is a red shape curving to the left just as organically as a leaf. Below that there is a peculiar shape, a silhouette of a tulip of black metal sheet, a bulb with three blooming points. Overall, there is balance in contradiction. The sculpture is perfectly still in the midst of its own kinetic nature.

More on the Biennial to come, there was a lot to see and if anything, I recommend the second and third floor, the fourth was a bit disappointing…

* Museums as temples of learning are set up to guide you and educate, from floor one to the top, one physically ascends into their ideas. When working your way down, one is not being taught but is rather learning, dissecting what was supposed to be implored on one to begin with.

Hola! My name is Eva Mayha, flower child and tea drinker since birth. Exploring NYC, lurking in museums, rocking out in the art world.

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