I write today because i took a day off. Do you realize (in case you have not been told) that we are all no different from slaves of un temps d`antan. All that is different with us is our cars and phones and ipods, our modern selves. The truth is if one stops for a day and not go to work, refuse to form part of the great rush on highways, freeways, underground etc, one starts to feel the arrival of a breath of fresh air. The breath of fresh air that hides from us everyday, waiting for us to find it. This elixir of non-chalance.
Today such an air of freedom reached my nostrils. Circulated around me, and infused me thorougly with a philosophical mind, whispering, "look at the world, it is actually beautiful, mysterious, gallant, ugly and deeply noble".
I sat on the esplanade of the San Jose Museum of Art today, waiting for the museum to open at 11.00 a.m. I was there on a mission to see the work of "Martin Ramirez". Check him out when you have time. Anyhow, because i left home and did not bother to check the time, and drove whistling in a totally non-chalant way to San Jose. Bought one fat free yogurt and one full fat bagel (contradiction !!) and sat on the esplanade. One of the reason, one never writes is because one never actually 'looks'. There is basically no observation in the life of an average person like me. Zero, nil, niet ! Trust me, the average Joe like myself never bothers to look around himself, our lives are filled with things we decide we want to see. Today the Janitor on duty was my muse. I was the only one at this time on the esplanade and sat intently eyes fixed on him and his work. Of course all the time pretending to read a masterpiece (Minaret by L. Aboulela). First he walks around with a hazard sign, translated in english, spanish and another language that i just could not pick up. He walks around with a dedication to clean every little dirt on this huge surface area. With Soapy water he rubs suspicious areas with a dedication like a man on a mission to eradicate dirt. Then he mops it out with water. Takes out a knife and removes the weed and shrub that stubbornly grows in between two large cement tiles. These weeds, i discover, never die they always find time to 'reincarnate'. But my admiration for him is very honest and i swear i am not a petty bourgeois re-discovering the world. What really keeps him going i ask? Should i be thankful for being what i am today? My whole ancestry that led me to where i am today, sipping ice tea on the esplanade whilst the background and ancestry of his that pulled him to where he is today. Life is a constant reminder of gross inequality. My point is we complain yet fail to see that others have a life of animals around us. Ploughing ploughing ploughing. We have no right to complain. Our problems are truly horse excrement compared to the frustration that labor-intensive life of this man on the esplanade. He obviously is an illegal immigrant. He obviously will remain invisible in the United States until the day he dies. I do not think he has time to go home and write a blog. I am thankful. Really thankful.
Anyway, i move on now that the museum is open. Looking for Martin Ramirez, i stumble on Camille Rose Garcia and fall instantly in love. My mediocre life and failed promises and ideas, that i had always felt i could somehow metamorphose in Art but obviously will never happen have been worked and expressed by Garcia in her sublime mind. Few months ago, i had taken the family to Disneyland, and came back depressed. Clearly it was not the 'happiest place on earth', but i could not express myself. What do you want to say Rattan? Garcia does it with a series of pop art nightmarish descriptions of life, dream, our subconscious, psyche. Here is what she does according to the museum, "The artist’s seemingly light-hearted paintings and drawings of charming cartoon-like characters actually depict dark tales of violence, corruption and greed, and seek to comment on the turmoil of contemporary society". Please take a look at her work. Absorb it and learn from it, as this is worth many books, many lectures, many useless visits to the church, mosque and temple where we always come back happy. Happy in a hollow way in Camille`s tragic kingdom.
http://www.sjmusart.org/content/exhibitions/current/exhibition_info.phtml?itemID=328
