Extremes beget extremes-spirituality and art

Spiritual and the contemporary art world, at a glance, seem to be far from each other. While the latter seems more about fame, ambition, money, ego, the former suggests detaching those. I like art on a certain level, (I am actually getting bored with the scene these days though.) and spirituality has been always in my life (I am actually fed up with the term, spirituality.) I have been working in a gallery and participating in some meditation or yoga retreats and some lectures from time to time. Something about both sometimes make me feel extremely uncomfortable and puking up almost. I have been wondering what is the cause of my allergic-like reaction to both worlds. Today, taking a small walk under the sun, I have come to realization that, in fact, they have lots in common. They can be "ridiculously serious," " condescending," and "judgmental." In the art world, people are serious and O.T.T., getting into details on any levels. How important the piece is to the world now, how great it has reference to the past,"---ism", how the brushstrokes do to the viewer, how the artist comes up with this great and innovative idea, how important such a museum has to own this piece, how precise it needs to be installed so on and on without a tiny bit sense of humor and with almost a scary look. They are so serious about the details that a dealer, an artist and a collector often fight. People in the spiritual world have the same tone with more cheesiness. “We have a god within.” “ we need to tap into our inner child.” The term, “spirituality” sounds cheesy to begin with. I wonder if there is a way to say without sounding cheesy... Often people who believe into what they believe can get resented attacking, puckering their blow, when somebody disagrees with them. Likewise in the art world. One time, I claimed a “I shouldn’t have said” kinda statement to a highly recognized private dealer, Mr X. “I don’t like Takashi Murakami’s work.” Mr. X reacted against me as if he was completely denied his whole existence by a God or he just saw a ghost. “If you don’t understand his work, you should not be in this biz!” His voice was raised up and his face was getting pale. As much as I regretted putting up my claim, but well, "Give me a break."
Then, when an artist talks about a concept or his/her statement, it gets worse. Not only he becomes ridiculously serious, but also sounds so condescending that I learn a way to pretend to listen, but never really do. In front of a sculptural installation of brand new empty boxes, or bottles, “this is the way of commenting on commercialism and commodity, blur, blur and blur." "Then, instead of wasting materials, why don’t you stop making art, if you really concern about materialism?" Oh, when it comes to spirituality, it is worse than the worse. A friend of mine who has been into spirituality visited me in NY from Australia once. She often said, "The world is beautiful. You have to cultivate peace within, blur and blur." "Don’t throw a cigarette on the street, we have to save our mother earth." Yet, she smokes too. "You walk too fast, oh you are a New Yorker. Be in the moment!" Every 5 mins, she says something "spiritual," imposing me. (By the way, why could the tecnical terms in spirituality sound not cheesy?) When I introduced one of my friends who was a middle-aged Japanese art collector to her, she turned into a monster so easily. When he told her to be careful in South Mexico where was her next visit from NY, her face got reddish and she commented with her right side of eyebrows high up, “If one has fear, one is attracted to fear, and just you know I know what I am doing!” There was a long awkward silence and he left sooner. “Common, he is my friend. Show some respects, though he might not be spiritual according to you. What is all about peace?” I kept to myself. When someone doesn’t act accordingly what one says, the word loses its power and becomes just condescending. In the end, I said to her, “you are too condescending.” We argued quite a bit. Then she left and emailed me saying that, “I have an influence on people, so no wonder I am annoying to you.” “Oh men and Amen.” I completely ignored, wishing that she would get me one day. (Just in my belief, the influential person would not need to prove that.)
In the both worlds, there are various types of judgemental eyes flying around. I come across a head to toe scan in both social situations. If you are a new commer, often, people give you a look,"you know nothing about what we are talikng about." Then, in both, people either pretend to teach you like doing to a kid, which imply that they are showing off how much they know about or how advanced they are. In the yoga retreat, I heard people almost shouting Mantra in the class, as if they competed against each other about how good they read without seeing the text.
At last, people have an attitude--"I am chosen and I am a God.”
If that is so, why could this world be a better place than before?
Too many words, too many artworks, too many artists, too many galleries, too many cheapish spirituality, too serious and just too much. This is the time when extreme seriousness becomes and sounds a big joke.

Jazz

I switched from Hawaiian Radio to Jazz station, cause I am in a Jazz mode. Jazz suits New York, especially in a foggy drizzling or snowy night. Like the blurry silhouette of Empire State building enveloped in mist and fog, a middle aged lady with a fur coat walking on Park Avenue, a gentleman with a trench coat and hat catching a cab, the streets in Soho after tourists’ depature, young lady with a book at a corner of a cafe, Jazz goes with any nothing-special scenes in the city. Jazz is kinds of music, which you could not only really listen to at a club , but you could also use as background music without being distracted. Not condescending like some music with lots of messages. Not dramatic like classic or opera. Yet it speaks sadness, excitement, sensuality, romance, regret, memoir, happiness, hope, and dream. It touches one’s heart. Each instrument plays off freely or almost selfishly and sometimes the beat and rhythm could be out of proportion, yet that is the point of Jazz. That’s where I am loving. REAL and LIFE. It creates an unexpected story. This “improvisation” factor is like when you miss a train and in the next one you wind up seeing somebody whom you lost in touch but just thought about. In fact, Jazz is New York. Every step, rhythm, and beat of each on the streets in Manhattan is improvised every day, producing the power of humans. Even if you feel being left behind the world or out of the circuit like me now, you ARE part of it like Jazz. I stumble or slow down or pace up and becomes disrupting. As the whole in an orchestra, yet, I might be also contributing some spices to the power of the city, an Improvisational land of music in full swing. Oh, I am back finally?

Last monday,

I received a notice that I got the working visa. This was a” third time is lucky" situation. Literally, I tried twice and was rejected twice. On the first rejection, I cried like a baby. On the second rejection, I was like "Oh, well.” No tears. This time, I was like "...” Despite the fact that I was so eager to get the visa back then, by now, my passion to wanna stay in NY has seemed weakened. Just a few days ago when I got this notice, I was sleeping in my bed in a loft space like a usual night and loud noises of mice running around frantically in my ceiling woke me up in the middle of night. I’d pretty much acknowledged that they had been running around in a space in between my ceiling and the floor in upstairs. Yet, I was generous enough to let them live under a term and condition that they were in this between space. Yet on that night, the noises were too loud and close to almost feel them around me. I jumped out of my bed, turned on the light and stared at the ceiling. Then, I found a few small halls… "NO.” “ NO-NO-NO-NO." INVASION!!! I almost puked up. I covered the holes with a cardboard and layers and layers of duck tapes without breathing. I moved to my sofa in my main room, which is lower than the loft space, which means relatively far from the ceiling. 1 minute, 10 minutes, 15, 20, 30 minutes passed, but I was wide-awake, imagining a chance that mice get all over my body. "Ok. Enough. This is it. I want to go back to Japan." Especially after my stay in Maui Island and in my depression period, mice’s attempt to invade my apartment killed a glimmer of hope to convince myself that NY is such an inspiring place to live. “ Yes, this is the city that enables me to meet people from all over the world,” I kept telling myself over and over again whenever I felt depressed. Yet on that very night, it didn’t work. " I am already depressed enough, I can't live in the city where the population of mice is bigger than New Yorkers any longer.” Cynically enough, 2 days after this happening, I got the notice. I laughed at myself. "When I wanted, I could not. When I don’t care for it, I get it.” It seems that this is a universal law. “Oh God, but, if you say so, I will stay…. There must be something for me to learn, I guess.” In terms of mice? I am still traumatized reacting every single noise from outside of my apartment. If that "universal law" is valid, then, I should pray like, “ Please show your faces here.” Perhaps?

a storm broke my house....

It has been a week since I came back from Maui trip but my spirit is still somewhere in the air. Or, I just refuse myself to land on the land of reality. Honestly, that would be the case. I am officially depressed. I have been trying not to fall down the hell of crying. Once I allow myself to drop even one tear, I know that I will not stop and get completely crazy, packing stuff and leaving NY for somewhere like Dallam Selah in India to take off any burdens, responsibilities for work, my mom and myself, desires, excitement and all in life. Although my desire for renouncement has been in a back of my head since I was little, I know that I am not really ready yet or will be ready ever in this life. Therefore, I can't cry right now. I-can’t-do... Well, seeing beauty in nature made me think that I am not really living but just struggling against life. “What am I tying to do?” So this trip turned out to be like a big storm, thundering so many questions, which were hovering around over my head anyway, but I tried so hard not to face. "Why am I living for?" "What's the meaning of life?" "Is it to breath in and out?” “Is it to make a living?" "Is it to become someone?" "Is it to accomplish every day life tasks? Or is it to establish career?" "Is to have family?" "If it is to make a living, I hardly do in NY. So does it mean that I am a failure or I am not living?" "What do I want in life, career or love?" "If I have all, would all the factors make me feel content and will never ask myself these questions? “ “If I had been born poor, then would I have never asked such questions, as I had to struggle making my living?” "If I live close to nature, then would it the same or not?" "I once lived in some islands like Hawaii, Chichi Island, but it didn't work with me. So, where would it be to live, if i want to live close to nature?" “Or to live is to find a place? Just like that?” “Is it better to live close to my mom, as she is a single mother and I am the only child? Or no matter what, is it normal for a child to set out on one's own? “Do I have sincere passion for the art world?” “ Do I love art in the first place?” On and on and on... It was the brutal storm that is like ripping shingles off the roof and the walls of my house, which I myself had been building and here I am sitting in the middle, closing my eyes and covering my ears with my hands. No matter how I have tried to live physically, the part of me has been always indifferent, objective or lonely rejecting to be in reality. I left behind. I have tried out so many different things from spiritual point of view to physical to know the reason why I was born. Still I don’t know. Do you know? An astrological reader had once told me, “At the age of 43, whether you choose or not, you will enter in a phase of spirituality.” The astrological signs based on my birthday and time is, according to him, the most perfect and ideal position for “spirituality” where I don’t need any gurus or teachers. “Great! Can’t wait! I don’t have to do anything consistently meditating or being a vegetarian to be “spiritual” Cool!” In a way, I am so waiting to become 43 years old. In the mean time, my only passion, I could say, is to know the answer for the very simple question, “why was I born here?” Whether I will be like a nun or not, as the astrological guy said, I am eager to know that. Huh wait a minute? Then, I already answered my question perhaps? Yeah, I live to know the answer. Ok, then so there is no need to be depressed then, as I at least know the reason why I am living currently. Ha! I can sleep tonight, though my roof was gone.

Only a few some hours ago,

I was swimming in the ocean, feeling the sunshine and sea breezes, listening to the sound of waves and swinging leaves of palm trees. Here I am in my apartment now--The sound of waves is replaced by the noise form the refrigerator and instead of seeing the ocean from a window, I am looking at the computer screen. I spent the holidays in Maui Island and had an absolutely amazing and mesmerizing time there. When I close my eyes, the scenes and memories there vividly crowds in on me -- the immense blue ocean and sky, the pristine ocean water reflecting the sunshine, the rainbows arched over the mountain, the half moon, the night sky filled with the diamond-like stars and a shooting star, the sudden rain storm, the distinctive smell of the tropical island, turtles flying in the ocean, the evening glow creating drawings in the blue canvas that are more beautiful and convincing than any other abstract drawings in the world, the sky and the sun beam from the water, the clouds traveling in the sky, the flowers like plumeria, hibiscus, the pineapples and the sugar cane fields and more…. I opened my arms to the sky. I stretched my mind and body to the ocean. Then, when I open my eyes again here, I start wondering if all that was really real? Right, I am not good at dealing with an "in-between-time" after a trip, feeling deeply void. It takes me more than a week to really be back to reality. No matter how fast I can travel around, thanks to one of the human's greatest inventions, an airplane, my mind seems to still remain in the Stone Age. Some people like my ex-ex BF who frequently travels around the world for his work know how to deal with this "in-between-time" situation. I used to be amazed by how quickly he could adjust himself to be back to real time. The minute he was at the New York airports, he was already in NY time-mode, acting as if he was never gone anywhere. I found him a bit insensitive and he thought I was too melancholic to look back to the memories of the trips. For me, though, it is almost unbelievable that there are completely different types of life going on within this same Earth. Could it be true that the place like Maui Island where people follow the time of the Earth and the place like New York City where people follow the time of “self” coexist? (You Must Be Kidding!!) More over, there are thousands or millions places where nothing really relates to each other. So, this is when a trip becomes a "trip." In fact, I was completely tripped out by greatness of Hawaiian nature, besides one disappointment--no matter how far I flew in the air to get away from America, I still found the America in Maui Island – The big shopping malls, McDonalds, loud Americans and etc…(well, I used to live in Oahu Island, so what was I expecting?) Whether I am “too” melancholic or not, let me take my time to be completely back, as I will be eventually anyway. So in the mean time, I am spraying the perfume that I got in the Island all over my apartment, having Hawaiian coffee and pineapples to hold on the bewildered memories…