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The Essence of Man

New York – Day Four

I’m a buffoon when it comes to art; I never quite know how behave to in its presence. Nevertheless we spent a rainy Saturday at the magnificient Museum of Modern Art, along with fifty bazillion other tourists seeking fancy shelter.

First we warmed up in the Architecture and Design Gallery. The sleek curves of an E-Type Jaguar, a ye olde iPod, a celebration of 50 Years of Helvetica – this is the stuff that loosens the limbs and gets you in the mood for the serious stuff upstairs.

Sewing machine at MOMA
Is there anything Italians can’t make sexy?

This is a lame analogy but its the best way to describe my dodgy approach to art galleries. It’s like Dirty Dancing, as far as I can recall from seeing it on video in 1990-something. There’s that scene where Jennifer Grey walks into the room where all the dancing is going on. When I walk into the gallery I feel like the paintings are handsome dancing blokes. I’m looking them over in a terrified, rather breathless and moronic kind of way, wondering if one will catch my eye.

At first it’s all just a blur of shapes but then suddenly something will leap out at me, just like that old hornbag Patrick Swayze. All the strokes and swirls come to life and reach across the crowded room to reel me in.

Lady and red
Lady and red

This happened with a Picasso, and I don’t even remember its name. It was much more interesting than crusty Patrick, anyway. I like that feeling of disappearing into a canvas. Even if you have no bloody idea what its all about, you know how it makes you feel. The rest of the room slides away. That is, until some mulleted bloke reeking of Brut aftershave shoves you aside to take a photo.

Speaking of manly essence, later that evening we went to Madison Square Garden for a hockey game. The Maple Leafs humped the Rangers 4-1. It was fun and violent, but there was a bit too much stopping and starting for my tastes. Just three twenty-minute periods of hockey with 17-minute breaks in between, plus endless pauses for commercial breaks. Where’s the flow? Where’s the rhythm? There’s plenty of time to go to the loo, granted; but I like slow-burn epic drama when it comes to sport.

hockey.jpg
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About Shauna Reid

Ahoy there! I’m an author, copywriter and old school blogger. I love telling stories about life and helping my clients to tell theirs. Find out more about me and how we can work together.


6 thoughts on “The Essence of Man

  1. I am posting in response to day 3 here!

    Ha Ha, ‘sleeping on my feet’ is EXACTLY what I do when my boy hits the record shops, his wee nimble fingers flicking, searching for that elusive find.

    Are all scottish men the same like that?

  2. Did you see the documentary about Helvetica last week? I had to take a good hard look at myself mid-show – I was missing Newsnight to watch a documentary about a font. But it was really good…

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