Spring

All this applies rather to the times from before a week or two or something in between, say 10 days. Outdated feelings.

Everyone seems to be lost. I don’t know if it is the weather, change of season, the age, atmosphere of student life or just the air spring solstice that spreads around along with this annoying illness that every second person seems to have now.

Everyone wants to go somewhere, move, not be closed and imprisoned here in the students’ village, the more time one spends here the more one sedentary one becomes, and the harder it becomes to break this . Or even just to want to. It is so safe, settled, everything is familiar and predictable. Student grannies. But this wind makes me restless. I know what I should do, but the concentration has been blown out of my mind. I want to do other things, but I can’t define what, I can even wash the dishes. I feel my mind is filled with winter dust and muddy stagnancy that just gets stuck into it the more limit myself to studying, in an attempt to convince myself that that is the most important part of my life.

And yet, I sit with facebook on, hoping that someone would chat to me, distract me, that something will miraculously happen, someone would visit me, bring me a gift of an idea what to do, how to be a murder once more and kill time in a more effective way.

And to be honest that is what usually happens and what has just happened. I will g to a theatre to see a play in French, a language of which I have no command. Zero. But why not, at least I will leave the murky cave of my room, be exposed to the environment. Another entry to the world of my friend... last time I took this passage, in one flying step from the table to the floor, I got physically wounded, though I can not deny there was an additional factor in it, called an influence of external alcohol materials. The visible rainbowish sign on my arm has faded but perhaps it was not a one-time instance. I am in his world, of lost imprecise undefined people, who look for extreme experiences to wake themselves up to the normal life.

I made it small so that you won't have to suffer too much looking at it. Indeed that is my, personal, arm. Or rather was. They amputated it. Ok, no it is back to normal now.

תל אביב אני מגיעה

Today a meeting with some old friends again. Miro, Klimt, Kandinsky, Picasso - all bothered to come. As well as others, whose names I ignorantly never remember. A museum of modern art. It is really fortunate that all the works of ‘the famous’ are so dispersed around the world. That way when we encounter them it really feels like seeing an old friend. What’s up Jackson? Spill out some news, mate.

When you discern a familiar style form among the tens hanging in the gallery’s hall you are more likely to discover you are fond of a certain painter. Variety makes you more aware perhaps? I don’t know, I just like to create all-explaining statements, in an attempt to order feelings and emotions.

Also, if one is a fan of one of the artists, this lack of concentration of their works gives an excuse to travel. But most importantly, and maybe I will express my lack of admiration by saying that, it would be simply boring of all the drawings paintings and sketches of the same authorship were closed in the same space. It would menace with oversaturation. Try to imagine death by Lager’s oversaturation. You wouldn’t like to experience that.

It is most likely to take place in a modern art gallery filled with installations or projects of the same type. As if someone thought you were ready to see 15 movies with a.no sound, b.no picture, c.sound hurting your ears, d. picture hurting your eyes and various combinations of the four. Some of these tortures, apparently conveying some message, lasting even half an hour. Maybe we just want a simple message? Leave the trouble to think and analyze, we just want to catch a glimpse of a picture and feel or not. In one moment decide whether we like it or not. And a plot-less movie...or a set of pointless views... I usually don’t even bother to watch the whole thing out of pure courtesy, just to have arguments to explain why I didn’t like it. One movie in a gallery is enough. Like in Tate Modern, my favourite, Meshes of the Afternoon. In Tel-Aviv’s museum I enjoyed (really, don’t take it as an expression of patriotism, if it is one, than only subconscious) the Polish installation and the one from Island. I sat in this dark room alone and almost burst out crying – was it so beautiful? I don’t know. It is like with addictions, there were certain receptors in my brain which received the message hidden in it. I.e. in a certain moment of time, being in a certain mood, I was able to relate to this piece of art. That is also why I advocate all the galleries to be free of charge. For one visit is not enough to be able to experience even half of the art gathered in there that way.