Punchdrunk

This company is more than a muse to me, though it is that, prompting me to finish works that have gathered dust over years. The company is sort of a manifesto, a religion, blurring the line between what I think is impossible and possible, real and fiction, giving real heft to fancies that I otherwise wrote off as frivolous and not worth realizing in the light of day. And I had the great fortune of meeting Felix Barret, having him hug me, kiss me on my cheek, offer a job ( that I had to sheepishly decline), and sign my Sleep No More mask.

Anyhow, I happened to first see Sleep No More the weekend I first saw Mcqueen's Savage Beauty exhibit at the Met ( and also saw Mark Rylance in Jerusalem.) The three together make for an extraordinary series exploring the dark romantic mysticism of the landscape in the British Isles. It was a sunny weekend in May in Manhattan but the ghosts of the moor loomed nonetheless.

So it was a matter of time before the two found each other and created a visionary experience together. Punchdrunk helped put on McQ's show recently. And it seems by all accounts AWESOME.

http://www.graziadaily.co.uk/fashion/archive/2012/02/20/watch--mcq-autumn-winter-2012-live-stream.htm

http://www.graziadaily.co.uk/fashion/archive/2012/02/23/all-the-secrets-behind-mcqs-spectacular-show--exclusive.htm

Juxtapostion: Time as a Place. ( aka A Forgotten Corner of this World, Full of Love)

I happened to be reacquainting myself with the land of the social network, when I found myself watching a little film about a man and his home and then reading a poem about memories. The film is about a man who is the type of obscure NY character who gives the city its quintessential stature as a hotbed of idiosynchorcies, the whole spectrum of humankind's attributes crammed into a slender island, invigorating its shifting architectural landscape with an awesome collage of individuals. While reading about this individual and all the little stories and objects he has collected, I encountered a poem about the struggle we have with our own past and memories, a tug of war that we all deal with to some extent everday and that summarizes who we were, who we want to be and how that informs who we are now. The poem was sent by Aditi in Bombay. The film was shared by Roger Ebert in his incomparable Twitterfeed.

The juxtaposition makes for an interesting pairing.

The link to the film:
http://vimeo.com/37093042#embed

The poem:

Hard Life with Memory Wisława Szymborska

I’m a poor audience for my memory.
She wants me to attend her voice nonstop,
but I fidget, fuss,
listen and don’t,
step out, come back, then leave again.

She wants all my time and attention.
She’s got no problem when I sleep.
The day’s a different matter, which upsets her.

She thrusts old letters, snapshots at me eagerly,
stirs up events both important and un-,
turns my eyes to overlooked views,
peoples them with my dead.

In her stories I’m always younger.
Which is nice, but why always the same story.
Every mirror holds different news for me.

She gets angry when I shrug my shoulders.
And takes revenge by hauling out old errors,
weighty, but easily forgotten.
Looks into my eyes, checks my reaction.
Then comforts me, it could be worse.

She wants me to live only for her and with her.
Ideally in a dark, locked room,
but my plans still feature today’s sun,
clouds in progress, ongoing roads.

At times I get fed up with her.
I suggest a separation. From now to eternity.
Then she smiles at me with pity,
since she knows it would be the end of me too.