The Berlin Wall fell 20 years ago and I’m reflecting on how fate brought me to live in there around eight months prior to that historic moment.
I had taken a shine to a German guy who was visiting my college one summer. Having always wanted to immerse myself in another culture and language, I thought I should see if this relationship could work and discover Berlin. During my prior two visits I loved the city’s textures which reminded me of New York’s East Village and was intrigued by Berlin’s history that is on every corner, branded into every building and into each conversation. So two weeks after I graduated, I was on a plane at JFK heading for the Tegel airport to move.
I found out that you couldn’t go a day in Berlin without bumping into the Wall especially as I lived near Kreuzberg, which was on the border to East Berlin. And any time you drove to West Germany you had to go via the East-West German border crossing with a passport; you could never forget the division of the countries.
On November 9, 1989–the start of Die Wende (in English: The Turn? that’s an extact translation, or perhaps The Change)– I was a bit overwhelmed as the city was flooded with people and Trabants, the little cars that have become one of the symbols of East Germany. I don’t remember being on the streets, but in the days to come we all were out and about in a daze. West Germans were speaking the way we now talking about Obama: They never thought the Wall would fall in their lifetimes. They said this with tears in their eyes. It was a thrill to see.
My wonderful pal Drew told me the other day that he was reading the Greek poet C.P Cavafy’s work and one of his favorite poems was Hidden Things. Then he promptly read it out loud to me over the phone and I was riveted. I remembered that I had a book of Cavafy’s and went to look for it on the shelf. Finding it, I realized we had different translations and then we read them to each other line by line, liking bits and pieces of each. Below is the 1975 version translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard.
Hidden Things
From all I did and all I said
let no one try to find out who I was.
An obstacle was there that changed the pattern
of my actions and the manner of my life.
An obstacle was often there
to stop me when I’d begin to speak.
From my most unnoticed actions,
my most veiled writing—
from these alone will I be understood.
But maybe it isn’t worth so much concern,
so much effort to discover who I really am.
Later, in a more perfect society,
someone else made just like me
is certain to appear and act freely.
When we were out in California this August I was finally able to see the incredible wire sculptures of Ruth Asawa (1926-)–by accident. Wandering around the new de Young museum in San Francisco we found them by the elevators.
I first heard of Asawa at Third Avenue Clay, the ceramic studio in Gowanus, Brooklyn where I made small sculptures. I saw her on the cover of a magazine laying on the table. She was studied at the renown Black Mountain college with Josef Albers among others. I immediately fell in love with her woven wire pieces with their organic undulations and outer-spacey forms. She was a special find, as besides Nancy Spero (1926-2009, Spero just passed away 0n Oct 18), I knew so few female artists of this generation to be inspire by and who had managed to break through with a language of their own.
Film historian Elliott Stein–who holds a monthly cinema chat for BAMcinematek–highly recommended that I see Guru Dutt’s seminal work Pyaasa (1957) within the Dutt retrospective at the NYFF. Craig and I saw the wonderful story of a poet who is struggling with the world around him yesterday. (Elliott wrote on Dutt in The Village Voicehere.)
This was one of my favorite scenes and songs/recitations of poems. Our hero Vijay/Guru is serving drinks at the home of his Boss the publisher who he has just found out is also the husband of his college sweetheart Meena! I’m trying to find a translation of the key line that he repeats. It’s something crazy melancholy like joy to those who love and are loved in returned.
After rewatching Antonioni’s L’eclisse yesterday and wanting to post some film stills as every frame is so stunning, I found this Youtube piece with Scorsese discussing Antonioni’s era the impact of this film. and its infamous final seven minutes.
These are some of the best photos from my trip with Craig to Los Angeles and San Francisco this August. I love his shots in San Francisco’s Chinatown and this is only a selection. I also had to include one of me in front of the famous LACMA (Los Angeles County Musuem of Art) lampposts especially with the institution in the news so much due to their film program potentially being cut from their budget, and then, now, maybe being saved. I also included my favorite shot of Craig and I, even though it’s out of focus. I also liked the one I took of some branches.
1. Love this one from Emily Dickinson. I read it on the subway!
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—
Success in Cirrcuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind—
2. My Dad told me a while back that this was one of his favorite passages from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam:
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
I missed writing last week. That was my goal. To post every Wednesday or Thursday, unless on vacation. I wrote the title of this Post and then stopped until today. I had the idea, an idea based on something I had done the night before, something humiliating. And come to think of it whenever I write personal post here, posts that aren’t about things I like, I guess they are about embarrassing moments . But up to now, I felt few inhibitions writing about what had happened to me–forgetting to pack my underwear in Austin or falling off my bike on the way to work. I was able to laugh at myself more quickly. Although as I think about it, the main difference in this case, which I will describe soon, is that there was more of an audience, which is surely the key to humiliation.
The other night Craig and I decided to once again indulge in our favorite noodle joint Momofuku Noodle. We’ve only been there once before and loved it. As we were in the East Village, we thought we’d pop by and check out how long the wait would be. Lo and behold, we were quickly ushered in and added to a long table of four others.
We quickly were able to order two delicious sounding late summer vegetable dishes: heirloom tomatoes with bacon and a corn dish and then the incredible pork steamed buns and finally two bowls of ramen. As we are want to do in our modern food-sharing excitement, we both got out our phones and were photographing, adding captions and uploading pictures to Facebook, course by course.
This is a fine activity if what you are taking a picture of is not a steaming hot bowl of soup and for some reason you’ve lost your grip on your phone. Your phone, the thing you use everyday lots of times a day, many many many times a day. And you are in a packed restaurant, there is not a seat free, and more importantly you are at a full table, and most importantly you are with your wonderful partner who has the loudest laugh in the world. And who in their right mind wouldn’t laugh when watching a blackberry plunge into the just arrived ramen. But then of course all eyes would be on you thinking “maybe girl with camera phone should eat her noodles instead of trying to broadcast about what she is eating” like a modern version of the Tao Te Ching.
Two poetry books of Anne Carson (more here at The Poetry Foundation) have been on table for many months, looking at me. And I finally opened them and I have been thrilled. I was a little intimidated as she is very erudite and also tosses in essays. But it all flows. And if something is a bit much for the moment, I just turn the page. I can return later!
A few notes on web sites that have been intriguing me recently…
ArtBabble: This blog isa great place to view artist work and interviews with the artist.
K as in Knife: An amazing collection of curiously curated bits and pieces–fascinating ads that Swedish director Roy Andersson created, photos by director Iranian Abbas Kiarostami, and much more.
FLYP, A beautifully produced web-based culture magazine.
Alex Ross’ The Rest is Noiseblog: Within this site there is a terrific chapter by chapter “listen-a-along” to the amazing book.
