Character Studies in the Modern Vernacular, Sculpting Time, Aftermath, Drugs and Drunkness subsides to Shangrai-la, Voices of Artists, The objectification of Knowledge.

Character Studies occupy my mind. A couple of weeks ago, Faust and I took the ferry back from Newport up Narragansett Bay and back into Providence. A French couple sat behind us, kneeing me in the back and speaking French in hushed overtones.

We fell asleep, and forgot about the tourists until we got off the ferry in its obscure , post-industrial terminal, and set about trying to figure out a way back to Brown. There was supposed to be a bus that went into Kennedy Plaza, and perhaps, by College Hill.

There was no bus. Faust and I stood there like homeless people pondering our next move. We considered walking back, but it was too far.

"Besidees" Faust added. "Is there even a sidewalk around here?"

The French Couple was equally concerned about getting back to central PVD. Disturbed, the man walked over to us and asked, in broken english, if the bus was coming.

"We hope" I responded.

He looked confused.

I repeated myself slowly. Taking the time to sound out my germanic-latinate language for his untrained ears " That's what we hope." I said again.

His wife came over and asked what we had said.

His response was forward and easily understood for us preveyors of the Brunonian Dream.

"Esperamus" he repeated. Faust and I laughed ourselves to sleep.

Hope is everywhere in Rhode Island. State Motto. School Motto. First College Dormitory. Name of Public High School. Cornerstone of Rhode Island history and heritage.

We hoped the bus would come, and it did.

***********************************************

Today's adventure took us to the RISD Museum for a solid dose of modernity.

We got in for free waving our Brown IDs like valid press passes. We hadn't been in the first gallery for more than five minutes before we were swept into a tour of the Gallery's modern collection and a 60 minute survey of 20th century art.

At the time when Margaret Stills, Associate Curator for the RISD Museum and RISD Alum, made her calls for the "tour," Faust was engaged one on one with a painting called "The Mountaineers and the Bears." Some woman behind him was explaining in that the painting was a proto-cubist work that Braques and Picasso had actually emulated. Its author was a remote Parisian Bohemian who chose love-making with a Russian Princess to humping fame and celebrity in the celebrated world of the Electric Revolution.

We were swept up into the dialouge of Ms. Stills, and forced to read small quotes from the Gallery's artists whenever we neared some of their works. Stills maintained that she loved hearing the voice of the artist when she was near their works.

"I need to hear Duchamp when I see his work. I hear them calling to me, and their voices inform the art's authenticity."

Her eyes fluttered like a drug addict behind half-moon glasses. She seemed like some sort of failed artist caught up in the body of Harry Potter's Professor Trelawney.

The tour was Faust, Me, and a Knitting Circle of six geriatrics who nodded in intellectual agreement with Margaret Stills. We sampled some van der Zee, some Cezanne, some Jasper Johns, and some works that challenged our understanding of art as a whole.

There was a piece labelled ready-made that was composed of a rock and some hair clippings collected from a Harlem barbarshop. Stills laughed and maintained that she knew the artist well.

"He won that genius grant a couple of years ago." she explained. "You know, the MacArthur Grant?"

The knitting circle of art historians nodded. I spaced out. Across the Gallery was a television set with a string of texts repeating across the top of the screen.

"PEOPLE ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE TELEVISION.
THE TELEVISION DELIEVERS YOU TO THE ADVERTISER
THE ADVERTISER CONSUMES YOU
HE IS THE CONSUMER
YOU ARE THE CONSUMED
THE TELEVISION MAKES PEOPLE THE MASS MEDIA
AND CONSUMES THEM."

I started tripping out. Was it hot in here? Or was I up to my neck in Modernism. This rock with some hair glued on was doing nothing for me. Jasper Johns was dodgy enough. This was out of control. I was on the verge of tripping out noticeably. If only I could get back to "Bears and Mountaineers." I be fine if I could get there. This stuff here on the other hand...

Faust and I escaped to posters of Olneyville Art-Rock concerts and raves. Had I again missed the cultural renaissance I was convinced was coming. I am a renaissance man without my renaissance. When/Where will it come? Is Providence the cradle that shall bear me?

We wandered through a tripped out exhibit called Shangrai-la la land. There was an alien in a bathtub melting through a spickot as he remained torture by a TV set. I was instanteously aware of the words scrolling across the TV downstairs.

I AM A PRODUCT
THE TV MAKES ME TO BE CONSUMED
THE MASS MEDIA IS THE CONSUMPTION
OF THE MASSES

More craziness inside of the Exhibit reminded me of our mantra. When things get too weird, Faust and I remind ourselves that it was "A GOOD THING WE DIDN'T DO ANY DRUGS."

It was that sort of an experience.

We got out fast. No sort of Classical Art could make up for this insanity. We went back to room and I pounded 150 pages of Lolita. No hope for the restless. Goethe fast asleep next door. Faust on the phone with a friend from Fordham.

I want somebody to love- whether or not I have found truth. Rain consumates happiness and lethargy.

"Just give in you fool...this will only take a moment."