“Am I Blue?”
“Am I Blue?” is the name of a play I starred in a decade and a half ago. I played a thief in New Orleans. So, jazz. This morning’s infinite miles upon miles of blue was a more tender activity. When we were instructed to take in the entire exhibit without reading one letter of text, I had this feeling like it was something I had been wishing for all my life and now at this moment, my dreams were all coming true. Never have I had such a wish, but it felt that way pretty quickly. I was grateful, so the blue floated up above each piece into all that vast space between the vitrine tops and high ceilings, like drifting dye in water, float-twisting, looking like thin ribbons of candy or silk, dancing in all that mysterious, empty air. What did we know? Turns out very much. Our educator had not done this activity before so she, like us, was on the edge of her stool.
Interesting choice of typeface graphics, having nought to do with the bend of the subject, but a choice nonetheless. Almost as interesting as the choice to place this small Gender Transformation exhibit in a very narrow, very small corner of the Beaux-Arts Court, hidden. Confused, I thought there would be more of it, but apparently everything fit. The blue on Shawabti of the Lady of the House Sati, circa 1390–1352 B.C.E. caught my blue-seeking eye. Faience always catches the eye. “This woman’s ‘male’ red skin gave her access to transportation to the next life in the god’s boat.” —so said the BK Museum.
Thar she blows, and so I am supposed to trust her. I trusted the Ask app — remarkable! Could have used that all day. They had me running up dirty, dust-bunny covered stairs to the fifth floor, looking for pre-Columbian instruments for me to play, and simultaneously searching for what they said was a signature Marsden Hartley piece. I couldn’t find it but enjoyed the scramble. I had asked the app for sound and asked if they could send me a picture, which they could not, but they thought it was funny because the painting they recommended was about military sounds. I can no longer access the thread I had with them, which is really a shame, but makes me want to go back.
One tends to feel better in Harlem. At Schomburg I found the Young Lords, a group I’ve been researching, and so felt blessed by a friend’s father. I found a richness in the history of Black Power, the music and the sounds I recorded, and the background to affirm what is so often misconceived about these particular coalitions and activist groups.
The Studio Museum was charming, but I mean the root of the word, its etymology: “to protect, cure, treat” from Late Latin carminare, from Latin carmen “song, verse, enchantment, from canere “to sing,” from Old French charmer (13c.) to enchant, to fill (someone) with desire (for something).” She did.
I have written over the limit in this entry. Though there is much more to be digested from the Harlem trip, these few photos will have to suffice for now.
