Dear Friends, On Sunday I took a day off and drove north through the extravagant spring of forsythia and blooming trees to spend some time at Dia: Beacon. I went just to be there, to be out of the city, a non-pilgrimage pilgrimage. It seemed a good place to aim for, without needing to know exactly what I was aiming at, the way destination and destiny speak to each other.
“The experience of the piece is happening in us”. You were there. I wasn’t. Yet, your writing and the photographs made the piece happen in me too. So, I was there as well. And, yet, I’m on the other side of the Atlantic.
This is so beautiful. Thank you. "And yet, the story forms inside me and becomes part of my own experience of the work," you're helping put words to what I'm up to. I'm so moved. I wrote a pained piece about Fred Sandback because I knew him in childhood and when I saw these DIA rooms my heart caught in my throat. And then as a lesbian, you got me twice here. I'm so moved.
Loved this…my partner and I were up at Dia a few months ago, too soon to see the blue curtains, but still enchanted by the art and (for me) just as much by the space itself, which seemed almost like an enormous sculpture you could walk thru.
The length of the room in your first photo looks captivating, like a person could sit on that floor and daydream for a nice long time in the presence of the blue curtains. Lovely!
This is marvelous! Reading your description of the experience felt like a koan. I LOL’d when I read that the curator ordered the curtains online. That shifted the piece from a precious museum object to a poetic recipe of an idea of a memory. It’s not easy to find language for this, and you’ve done it beautifully.
We went to DIA:Beacon a couple years ago and loved it. I’m trying to remember the name of the artist (a woman) who does very large paper lengths entirely covered with different colors of soil. Very moving and poetic. Is that still hanging? The Serra and the Heizer both blew me away.
I loved this.
“The experience of the piece is happening in us”. You were there. I wasn’t. Yet, your writing and the photographs made the piece happen in me too. So, I was there as well. And, yet, I’m on the other side of the Atlantic.
Such great writing.
This is so beautiful. Thank you. "And yet, the story forms inside me and becomes part of my own experience of the work," you're helping put words to what I'm up to. I'm so moved. I wrote a pained piece about Fred Sandback because I knew him in childhood and when I saw these DIA rooms my heart caught in my throat. And then as a lesbian, you got me twice here. I'm so moved.
Loved this…my partner and I were up at Dia a few months ago, too soon to see the blue curtains, but still enchanted by the art and (for me) just as much by the space itself, which seemed almost like an enormous sculpture you could walk thru.
The length of the room in your first photo looks captivating, like a person could sit on that floor and daydream for a nice long time in the presence of the blue curtains. Lovely!
This is marvelous! Reading your description of the experience felt like a koan. I LOL’d when I read that the curator ordered the curtains online. That shifted the piece from a precious museum object to a poetic recipe of an idea of a memory. It’s not easy to find language for this, and you’ve done it beautifully.
We went to DIA:Beacon a couple years ago and loved it. I’m trying to remember the name of the artist (a woman) who does very large paper lengths entirely covered with different colors of soil. Very moving and poetic. Is that still hanging? The Serra and the Heizer both blew me away.
The photographs and your writing evoked a lot in me.
My gratitude for both.