(Whywhywhywouldacouldashouldamissyoumissyou. Homehomehome.)
I volunteered at Prospect 1 yesterday- a city-wide biennial (art fest) aiming to attract art conisseurs to New Orleans. I stood outside of a gallery in the lower ninth ward, explaining a piece called "Mrs. Sarah's house" to Prada-clad Australians and heavily-lipsticked New Yorkers who said "yes,yes,yes," and "right,right,right" before I finished my sentences.
"Mrs. Sarah's House" is the ghost-skeleton of the house Mrs. Sarah should have. The Kenyan artist, Wangechi Mutu, met Mrs. Sarah, who had lost her house during Katrina, and, like many New Orleanians, had her relief money (Road Home) absconded with by some shady contracters. Wangechi built the bones of a typical shotgun house and strung it all with lights. At night it glows beautifully. Her sister-in-law and someone else from the neighborhood performed last night as the sun went down= gospel tunes and poems about oppression and hope. Well-dressed "art people" stood around in the grass bopping their heads while a few old ladies with purple-grey hair yelled out "amens" from their lawn chairs, holding cans of Miller-light like candles.
I have a serious love/hate relationship with the art scene. It seems contradictory to have all these wealthy black-boots Hmming at photos and paint in a "wellaren'tthosepoorpeopleinteresting" way... almost exploitive. But I guess that's just how it is to make money from art- and if it wasn't for that maybe that gap would never be spanned at all and those images would just sit quietly in their own homes, like secrets.
Got so lost last night on my way home from the Bayou (where nutria- like RodentsOfUnusualSize) swim like small monsters through the still water-- it took me an hour to do what should be a six mile jaunt. The streets overlap like tangled wires. I started crying about the fourth time I crossed Derbigny, feeling like Alice when she finally finds a trail home and that bristle-faced dog is sweeping away the path in front of her.
Miss you all terribly.
5 comments:
iloveyou.iloveyou.iloveyou.
youarestrong.youarestrong.youarestrong.
andbeautiful.beautiful!
iloveyou.
Even though it may not be fun, you are in your typical observational mode, learning from your surroundings. I'm glad you're sharing your observations with us so that we may learn as well. Can't wait to see you during the Thanksgiving vacation and give you all the hugs you need.
wanna move to portland and start a co-op...cool. see ya there.
Oh Carrie,
We all love you so much. You are doing wonderful things. Volunteering, getting lost, writing beautifully about it. If all else fails send what you write to a magazine. I'll bet they would publish you.
God bless you.
Grandma
I get lost as hell too, even when some Malian doesn't give me wrong directions when he should have just told me he doesn't know how to get there. It'll all work out eventually.
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