We are starting the season of "wrapping up." As mentioned earlier in the week, we've wrapped up the writing workshops, today The Boy finished his first knitting project,
and this afternoon The Girl concluded her pottery session. Since we knew that it would be the last time we would be visiting that neighborhood for a while we made an afternoon of it. The Girl wanted to get some time in at Bankstreet Bookstore, so we went up early and hung out before pottery. Since our bookstore visit had been fulfilled, after we dropped off The Girl, The Boy and I decided to use our time wandering the cathedral and grounds of St. John the Divine. St. John and we are no strangers to each other, so initially it started out as an exercise in checking-off all of our regular stops:
Wandering the beautiful grounds/gardens
Check.
Peacocks.
Check. We didn't find the white one, but we saw both blues... One kept getting really ticked off at the pigeons. The pigeons were kind of too stupid to know what all the feathers and twitchings and foot-stamping and chattering sounds meant. They were unflappable, it was like: Eh. One more weird New Yorker.
Inside: The FDNY memorial for the twelve firefighters killed in a fire on 23rd street in the 60's. We heard tourists once assuming it was for 9/11 (because people do leave trinkets and notes for the hundreds that died that day -- so in a way the public has somewhat altered it/it's purpose). It's strange to look at the memorial and realize that at the time of its conception there was no context for the loss that the FDNY would take on forty years later -- the two towers weren't even built. The Boy has always been intrigued by the memorial, so we pay our respects each time.
We also look up -- to see rainbows and floating color coming from the stained glass, and carvings that surely have fine details that are never seen, but are there because of dedication to God, to a religion, to fine art, to a strong work ethic...
There were some new and unexpected finds. At a simple wooden alter I found the prayers for the unemployed:
And an orchestra was in the main hall practicing; the music swelled and occupied space like something warm and dense.
And then unexpected encounters that we weren't, collectively, happy with. Until July there is a striking art installation there -- throughout the entire ground floor in various side chapels, and nooks, and crannies. It is poignant and strong and has many lush and deep images and details. That having been said, for those of us who aren't as knowledgable about apartheid and its aftershock, the effect comes across as creepy. I don't dislike creepy, and I was trying to explain to The Boy (and The Sister) that provoking feelings of discomfort, or sadness, or alarm, or anger is how artists can help -- they use the power of emotions for social/idealogical change. BUT, my students weren't buying it. And I actually agreed. While I would have probably really liked the installation in a different venue, I didn't like it in the cathedral. I think I "got" some of the religious/sacrificial/hypocrisy themes, and yet rather than making me feel new, or thinking bigger/deeper, it made me feel disengaged, or like I wanted to exit the darkness of the cathedral that had seemed protective, but now seemed scary. Putting the installation in a structure that is considered by some to be a refuge, or a place of reverence, is a strong move intellectually -- but I think a tenuous one emotionally. Which I'm sure is all part of the artistic vision and intense irony that those who coordinated the exhibit were going for... And yet...
Two things: 1. The Boy requested that we NOT go back to the cathedral until after July (when the art leaves) -- I fear that his love of the cathedral might have been dampened, and 2. I noticed that things seem a lot less depressing when you have a funny teenager in tow pulling faces and making wise-acre remarks. I seriously love teenagers. Especially the one that lives on our couch.
After pottery, and after meeting up with The Dad we actually went inside Tom's Restaurant (of Suzanne Vega, Seinfeld, and President Obama fame). We walk past it going from the pottery studio to the book store and The Boy has been enticed by the signs promising 22-ounce milkshakes. We decided that the last class of pottery would be "the night," so for the past couple of weeks whenever we've been around liquid he's been like: "Would you say this is 22 ounces?" This evening, with our milkshakes held high, he led us in a toast: "To [The Girl]!" -- for introducing us to the neighborhood through her pottery... That part was fun, and the people who own the place seem really nice... but I don't think that we need ever go again.
But we will hopefully be back to the neighborhood in a couple of months when The Girl starts up pottery again -- she loves it so. And The Boy is going to continue knitting in whatever capacity will fit into our future schedule. Some things you experience once and that's enough (or more than enough); some things -- once introduced -- can always find a space in your life.
