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Showing posts tagged novysan
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It’s been a year since I came home
One year ago today, NovySan and I stumbled off a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into an unseasonably warm, sticky Boston haze, gathered up our luggage, and tried to wrap our jet-lagged brains around the MBTA. Several transfers, bruised shins, and pulled muscles later, we staggered into our summer sublet and fell asleep before we could decide where to eat breakfast.
I don’t think it was ever a secret that I didn’t like Los Angeles, although I don’t think most of my friends ever knew just how miserable I was there. There were things I liked about the city, and people there I loved, but in 10 years, it never felt like home. I wasn’t sure, when I moved here, whether Boston/Cambridge would be home. I’d only visited once, on my way to Viable Paradise. I didn’t make it across the river that time, but walking in the chilly morning fog of the Back Bay, I thought, “I could have a really serious love affair with this city.” And I have.
It’s not an easy thing to put into words, this feeling of belonging. It bubbles over until I have to wear sunglasses on cloudy days, lest strangers on the street see the tears in my eyes. It tempts me to sing on the bridges (which might be allowed), and to hug strangers (which almost certainly wouldn’t). It expresses itself in endless pictures of the sunset from my window (be grateful I don’t share them all) and a desire to involve myself in the life of this place in a way I never did in LA.
Whether we stay here after Dan graduates or not, I will enjoy every moment here.
I’m not homesick any more.
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slackmistress replied to your photo: This is @novysan in his happy place. (Taken with…Is that another Novy in the background? WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT THAT MEDIA LAB?!?!
The bartender does rather look like he could be related, doesn’t he? Novy sent him off to run some experiments with overproof rum and a lemon peel.
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”BIG WORD ALERT! Are you ready? It’s called “Fetishization of Value.” The equation looks like this Collectors /= Art Lovers. Any asshole willing to buy a a Koons/Hirst/Ryden/Insert Name of Next Banal Bad Boy Here for the price at which they sell could care less about what’s actually on the canvas. Once a threshold of price has been reached these aesthetic midgets are paying for the NAME and jerking in a circle to see who’s got the biggest wad and who can get it off fastest. The VALUE of the work is no longer the work itself, merely the name attached to it and how much it was bought for. It’s become a fetish object, bragging rights, pissing contest, or the worst phrase possible, “part of an investment portfolio.” No one’s blaming the artist. Who doesn’t want an artist to succeed and be able to make a living doing what the feel they need or want to do. Bill isn’t dumping on Ryden, he’s pointing out that those who buy that dreck aren’t buying it because when they walked into the room and saw it their heart skipped a beat, or they swooned, or had to sit down, or obsessively thought about the piece day in and day out until they could seek it out again, as pieces I’ve seen have done to me. They bought it because someone else fetishized it, ripped the value from the work, and turned it into a commodity whose worth lies only in its provenance of owners who are so culturally retarded they’ve never picked up a brush or a chisel or a pipe wrench and propane valve. This fetishization of value and celebrity artist system centralizes and bleeds available cash from the market in general, leaving 99% of the artists to suffer in obscurity if they are unable or unwilling to participate in this pornography of price. Hyaena is probably one of the most important gallery spaces on the West Coast in it’s form and function. You want something your pastor will think is nice and no one will ever question? Go to the mall and buy a Kinkade, Painter of Light™. You want something you can wave at the other investment bankers and dentists? Something with a whiff of danger like that Harley you keep in the garage? Sure, troll the Lowbrow/Pop Surrealist scene and pillage your artwork Viagra. Me, I want art that hurts, that bleeds, that sings. I want Hyaena.
Sometimes I like to quote my husband, NovySan. Here he is ranting about the fetishization of value on Hyaena Gallery’s blog.
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I’ve got friends in Cape places.
My dad works on this show and he put me (and others) as a contact of the Cape (sunii). I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.
Me too, me too!
