Art and the Park

Leaving work today I headed into the sunshine, once again lucky enough to enjoy the freakishly warm NYC weather. I walked up Fordham Avenue, weaving through crowds of people, reached the subway stop and boarded the Number Four train headed downtown.

I got out and walked to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, completely unsure of what I was going to see, knowing only a few things about the trip. First, I would not pay the full recommended admission of $15. Second, I would not stay for more than an hour or so, generally the time it takes me to develop "museum feet" and escape marble floors and strangely controlled museum climates.

I checked my bag with the overly friendly Russian coat check guy (Enjoy man! Have a great time Man! See you Man!), and headed to buy a ticket. I slid my crisp one-dollar bill across the counter to the girl selling tickets, shyly averting my cheapskate eyes...

"You should see the Rauschenberg...It's modern art...You'd really like it."

Now, I'm thinking two things: First, who the hell is Rauschenberg? I'm feeling really ignorant, but the truth is that I don't have a damned clue. Second, why would "I really like it?" Is that just another way of saying that it's really good, or is that supposed to mean something about me? Do I look like a guy that would really like Rauschenberg?

Who knows?

Anyway, I headed up to see the exhibit that I'd "really like", and the truth is that I did "really like" it. The show was called "Combines", and was filled with his work from 1955-65 (dates, if not correct, are close). The "combines" referred to are all collage works, many of them free standing sculptures, and are constructed of the most random and disparate of materials.

Truth be told, while I enjoyed the works, I even more enjoyed the tags that described the materials that old Rauschy used. They were like a work of their own. Take, for instance, the following description of "Untitled" from 1954:

"Freestanding combine: oil, pencil, crayon, paper, canvas, fabric, newspaper, photographs, wood, glass, mirror, tin, cork, and found painting, with pair of painted leather shoes, dried grass, and Dominique hen, on wood structure, mounted on five casters."

Or, this one, which is even better, from "Monogram" (1955-1959)

"Freestanding combine: oil, paper, fabric, printed paper, printed reproductions, metal, wood, rubber shoe heel, and tennis ball on canvas with oil on Angora Goat and rubber tire, on wood platform mounted on four casters."



The animals mentioned above were the real deal--stuffed, dead creatures affixed in different ways to the the different canvases. Equally real, and equally interesting, was the syntax of the descriptions.

My podiatric alarm sounded just on time--after about an hour, I began to lose interest in the works that shortly before had captivated my attention. I ran through the last few rooms (excepting the last room, which was amazing), got lost in the museum, took an elevator unnecessarily, and finally made it into the fresh air and sunlight.

I walked into Central Park, planning to stroll for a while, slowly working my way downtown. After stopping for a coffee at the Central Park Boathouse (great place) and falling asleep in the outdoor patio, I continued walking down the Park's paths. As I trudged along, trying to shake the nappy cobwebs from my head, I was suddenly awoken by the strangest of sounds. At first I thought I was listening to a didgeridoo, but quickly realized that I was hearing a human voice. I looked down the steps to my left, and beneath the arch of the a tunnel, saw the following man:



His name is THOTH, and he performs in Central Park, playing the violin, singing and dancing, moving through what he calls "soloperas" -- He sings the parts of all the characters in these stories, changing between different ranges with truly enviable skill and fluidity.

A few important things about his work:

1. He does not, in actuality, perform, but rather "prayforms" -- To quote from the informational leaflet that he offers, "Prayforming is my everything, my joy, my creative expression, my workout, my self study, my being-duty to pay back to the universe for the gift of my existence."

2. "A solopera is a word I coined to describe my work. It comes from "solo" meaning alone, "sol" meaning sun, and "sol" a homonym for soul merged with "opera" meaning dramatic performance put to music and the plural meaning of "opus" which means work. It is part vocalizing, puzzle, aerobics routine, monologue, language deconstruction, alchemy, theater, healing ritual, sacred dance, all accompanied by solo violin and complex percussive rhythms."

3. Finally, to tell a bit about the themes of his soloperas, Thoth sings about the "mythological world of the Festad" and sings in "their" language.

Okay. So he plays a bit, then stops and we start talking. Truth is, most of the time I don't have a damned clue what the hell he's saying, but he's truly a nice guy, and quite interesting to talk to.

At one point, he looks at me and says sincerely, "You know, I don't live a life that most people would consider normal."
I started laughing. "I've noticed," I respond.
He laughed too, and we continued talking for a while, about all sorts of weird stuff like energy and the Festad and him being the "first interracial person" (I didn't quite understand that), and the shape of Earth and different colors of chalk and all sorts of other things.

While we talked, all sorts of other people stopped by, and everyone seemed to know Thoth, and he seemed to know everyone. Pretty crazy. This one guy, Segway Bob (that's how Thoth referred to him) and his wife stopped by, and Bob joined in the prayformance, "dancing" around Thoth on his Segway, shaking the bells on his handlebars to the beat of Thoth's song. I was a little confused by this, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and Thoth didn't seem to mind, so I guess that it was cool.



After Thoth's final performance, we talked a bit more and then I left him and his chalk drawings and crystals behind. I continued through the Park, made it back into the land of Avenues and Streets, and walked down until I finally reached Union Square, where I caught the L train, passing Third Avenue and First Avenue and feeling my ears pop as the train passed beneath the East River, until finally the doors opened with the sound of a monstrous exhale and I left, once again home, no longer in the land of the Festad, but just normal old Brooklyn. Which still ain't bad.

To find out more about Thoth, check out his webpage at www.skthoth.com