15 Sept. 2009
“Drawn like moths we drift into the city
A timeless old attraction” - Subdivisions by Rush
Today, during my lunch hour, I gazed at Water Lilies by Claude Monet.
Wait. Let me back up. Back, back, back. To get to the museum I exited the Public Service Building, where I work, and took a left on 6th. Clip-clop, clip-clop. I hung a right on Salmon and waited for the cross walk to turn. Tick-tock, tick-tock. While headed west on Salmon I was asked three questions (1. Do you have a minute for the environment? 2. You got $.35 for a bus ticket? 3. Can you help me out?) by three people of varying demographics; a dred-locked girl a bit younger than myself collecting signatures for a referendum, a haute coutured California roadie, and an actual homeless man, respectively.
Two Portland-sized blocks later I was in the park strip that slices through downtown walking among the pigeons. (Coo, coo). A farmers market was set up on the grass with vendors selling local fruits and vegetables. In addition there were various food carts cooking up delicious smelling wraps, pastries, sandwiches, and other entrées. I stopped to grab a shawarma ($6.95) and observed the lamb cooking on the grill Pop! Hiss-pop! I hung a left towards the university and walked below the canopy of deciduous trees until I found myself in front of the Portland Art Museum. I had a yearlong membership (thanks Shannon) so I decided to hop in for a minute.
I breezed past the rotational exhibits to the good stuff. In junior high I thought Modern and Postmodern art was a sort of kindergarten for adults. Some self-important, well-regarded artist might paint a vertical stripe down a canvas and the critics clap and tell him how unique and special he is while the rest of us wonder how he just made $25,000 dollars doing it. I guess there is plenty of that. But, there’s also a certain beauty in the form, symbolism and simplicity of those works.
During the last two months I’ve visited this place a few times a week during the work day. It’s a welcome break from the summer heat and pace… a quiet moment on a cool concrete bench in silence.
After huffing up a couple flights of stairs I reached a landing and there in front of me, bigger than life, was Water Lilies. The real thing. It’s a giant canvas; probably 7x6 feet of muddled blues with splotches of pink and white. I have been in the presence of maybe four or five creations that iconic. Most of them were architectural (Eiffle Tower, Golden Gate Bridge, Empire State Building, etc). As the Mona Lisa or Stary Night are reproduced on coffee mugs, mouse pads and posters they become ubiquitous and their presence diluted. But standing 20” from the original you notice the cracks caused by the barometric effects of one hundred summers and winters. To see those blemishes in the oil paint you have to be there. And to be there you have to put yourself in the position of possibly being there.
I guess that’s what living in a city means to me. Each day is a roll of the dice. Small towns might have the same number of weirdos and social opportunities per capita. But in a city they are concentrated. Living in a large urban center allows for a variety of experiences. One day a guy on the bus is having a hallucinogenic conversation with a plastic bag. A couple hours later a friend calls and I am attending an album release party at a record company in a building I’ve never seen before.
In terms of diversity and social networking, Portland is a baby compared to New York, London, Beijing or Los Angeles. Yet new possibilities come at me two at a time.
