or reasons I cannot quite explain, I’m interested in things and behaviors that are “pointless.” Some are:
- Spatial: Think spheres, Doric columns, arches, globes, certain geometric forms, the universe
- Predispositions: In my case, I am predisposed to buying, smelling, and using cosmetics. So enticing — and so pointless.
- Mindsets: Trying to keep some distance from people who argue to “make a point,” often trying to convert someone to another point of view.
or years I have been perplexed by art galleries and museums offering headsets to people coming to exhibits – a phenomenon I call “Listening to Art.” Or why turn a visual experience into a mediated lecture?
Here’s an example: Some years ago, I visited a Damien Hirst exhibit at the Tate Modern. One of the exhibits included a room with paintings of butterflies, accompanied by living and expiring butterflies. Forty-nine people were admitted to the exhibit at any one time. In my group, I was struck by how many people rented the headset, dutifully concentrating on the recorded words – all the while quite oblivious to the butterflies flying and dying around them.
Eating his Christmas pie,
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said, “What a good boy am I.”
Was sipping on holiday rye,
Enjoying the smell
And the bourbon as well,
She sighed, “What a good girl am I.”
Rainshadow, out-of-sight, somewhere between
Where the leaves fall and far before their bloom.
A personality and demeanor of winter: Central Colorado.
A red brick rolodex in the Rockies,
There is fun to be had within the mountains’
Angled roofs, each corner, peak and trough.
The center house’s backyard taxis in and out
The groutfit days of Denver, whatever there is to
Say about it.
