Last night, Mark and I went to go see "Los Angeles Plays Itself." I would categorize this as an "Arty" thing to do, because it's not the Arclight, and because it's one of those movies Arty people talk about. Mark thought it was absolutely hysterical, and it was. He probably liked it because it was basically a bunch of previews of movies about LA (sorry, LOS ANGELES) and that's a reason I liked it too. The Q and A afterwards, however, was the interesting part to me, because of the multitude of stupid questions people ask. One lady was offended (of course) about his lack of representation of minority filmmakers (there was plenty of representation of minority filmmakers and the whole movie was basically criticizing rich white men.)
Another person criticized his attachment to architecture, and not to the people of Los Angeles. I get this, because half of the love you have for a city is for its buildings. I know this is how I feel about New York. I know I love that skyline. I know I love the feeling of being small among these mammoth creatures. I know I love the tunnels and the trains that go through them. I know I love the bridges that cross the rivers. I love how each apartment building is different. I love the colors and the art in the cement.
I know the devastation I felt about the World Trade Center was equally about both the people and the buildings, and my godmother died that day, so when I say I loved the buildings too, I mean it. I loved standing between them. Looking up. They created a wind tunnel and I loved standing between them and thinking that I might float away. I loved that they were mirrors, the biggest mirrors ever imaginable, reflecting the city, the water, the harbor, the bridges. I loved going to the top. Once I went up there while they were in the clouds. All you could see was white and grey. Zero visibility. Literally in the clouds. I loved it.
I think these thoughts, and Mark things whatever it is that he thinks.
He has more patience than I go at museums and galleries. I get frustrated easily. I like to look around for one thing that connects to me immediately then stare at it for a long time to see what happens in my brain. I like to follow lines with my eyes- brush strokes, pencil strokes. In all honesty, I am annoyed by a lot of art. I like the act of people coming together, not the act of alienation, which is what I think most art strives for- alienating people to make them feel stupid and apart and separate.
Mark, though, is perfectly content to wander, and wonder, and say, "Hm." He likes to look. I love this about him. He is slower than I am, wandering around, gazing, and I am crazed, my mind sputtering, judging, eavesdropping on people and laughing at them or wishing I could talk to them. But Mark seems to get more enjoyment out of Arty things than I do, or a different enjoyment, or just an enjoyment, whereas I am looking for stimulation.