I always wonder: who lives for those weeks of heavenly hell, when you are lucky to get 2hrs of sleep between having panic attacks and inducing them. On occasion I also wonder: who lives for the lulling weeks in between.
In the last 3 years, since moving to New York, I have found [as expected] a considerable increase in anxiety as a direct result of taking on too many projects. The truth is, the early stages of project hoarding, I begin to experience this sense of an elevated calm. It’s very difficult to explain this sensation in out of body terms other than using clichés such as “the calm before the storm,” but it is very similar to the floating sensation during the first minute of sky diving, [minus the deafening wind and ear pressure]. Maybe even closer in semblance to that last intake of air before you step over the edge of a cliff to plummet into a cold watery ravine [which I find by far more frightening than sky diving].
At times my mother has described me as a thrill seeker, dangerous unto myself; at times she’s even ventured as far as to call me a masochist. And while the latter can be held as truth on both physical and emotional levels, I have certainly not grown out of getting my kicks.
By now, you must be asking yourself, what exactly does this have to do with Armory Arts Week. This sensation, which I have now taken 235 words to describe is exactly how it felt to get involved in what is essentially a week long art faire, which like the fashion week, takes over every street in participating neighborhoods all over the city and brooklyn. It’s not exactly the Art Basel of Switzerland or even Miami [that would take too much silicone and stretch fabric], but it’s just as chaotic, much closer to home so to speak. Everyone is adding their twist on the fair, resulting in satellite fairs, private receptions, parties and carefully choreographed dinners, feet getting stepped on, and stepping on feet. Despite the its small size, I don’t think this city will ever get too crowded regardless the amount of talent it obviously holds, but at times it sure does have the persuasion of a pageant being held in you own back yard, or in this case, paved back lot. I mean that in the most endearing sense, that no matter how many dinners I walked into and how few people I knew, it felt like home every time. Whereas coordinating the events I was part of felt like the even hum of a tornado whirring within arms reach, the feeling of stepping through its spilling walls and flying debris left me exhilarated once inside, standing in the safe center of its conical walls, in mild anticipation of stepping out again and being left drained on the other side.
I used to think life was lived much like Dorothy had, waiting for the next tornado, or like Alice, poking around for rabbit holes. But in the last three year my perspective has changed; now digging furiously in gardens, and chasing tornados in a van.
Curious Wednesday is a weekly column written and driven by personality of Ms. Marquise discussing the insides of her head in relation to things around her. New topics can be found on the Bushwick Daily every Wednesday, while you can find her productions listed on False Aristocracy.
