Not Such Freudian Dreams

Rodeo Drive--one of the areas I can stand that I can't afford

Last night I dreamed that I went back to Los Angeles with some friends, which I don't have in reality.  But, the trip to L.A. wasn't with the intention of staying there permanently.  In L.A. I was in one of the West L.A. areas where I lived as a child--the area around Santa Monica Blvd. and Sawtelle Blvd.  I grew up in L.A. and it often appears in my dreams, but any lingering homesickness I used to have for it, is now past--I think.  However, when I visited there last year, I really enjoyed the Getty Center.

Then I dreamed that I was going to produce a video in L.A., only because I found this male singing group that I thought would be good background music, but I called it a record in the dream, not a video, although it really was a video.

As I was growing up in L.A., I always felt as though it were a boring place to live.  When I visited L.A. last September, for the first time since 1984, all those feelings of boredom in L.A. that I experienced growing up came back to me.  I found L.A. more depressing than I ever thought I would.  However, one reason for that is that I was there during a big heat wave.  New York is depressing, too, during a heat wave.  The only places I can stand to be in L.A. are areas where it's too expensive for me to live.  

Last Friday Night at the Guggenheim

Lee Ufan Picking Out Rocks
from a Quarry in Long Island

I had been planning all last week to go to a "members only" night at the Guggenheim on Friday night.  I had RSVP'd that I would be there, not that that means anything, because they don't know me from Eve.  However, this members' party included a half-hour group visit with the artist,  Lee Ufan, whose work is now the main exhibit at the Guggenheim.

When Friday night arrived, I didn't feel like going, even though I had taken a nap in the afternoon and felt well-rested.  I knew there wasn't any reason for me not to go.  Although it's rather a long trip to the Guggenheim from my apartment in Staten Island--about 1-1/2 hours. The trip goes pretty fast because it's broken up into equally divided sections.  First, I take the bus to the ferry, then the ferry to Manhattan, then the subway to 86th Street.  From there it's only about a 10-minute walk to the Guggenheim.

While waiting for the bus near my house, I was dreading the trip so much that I almost went home, but my bus came and I forced myself to get on.  At the ferry terminal in Staten Island, it looked like it was going to rain really hard at any moment causing me to surmise that since I had forgotten to bring my umbrella, I better go back home at once.  Then I glanced down into my carry-all and saw my umbrella.  I hadn't forgotten it after all. Gosh. Darn.  I didn't have to wait long for the ferry and continued into Manhattan and on to the museum.  It never did rain.

According to the information on my invitation, I arrived at the Guggenheim exactly on time.  Hardly anyone was there.  I have to travel so far to get anywhere from where I live, but I always seem to be the first to arrive, when people who live down the block show up an hour late to everything.  Every one except me knows to arrive fashionably late.

I haven't mentioned yet that one other reason I had dreaded this trip was because I was broke.  I just coast through the last week of every month before my social security check arrives, which is the most salient event of my pathetic financial life.  I have an MTA senior discount card so I don't have to worry about paying for transportation except once a month.  I put my card in the slot and my fare is extracted electronically.  Since I'm a member of the Guggenheim, I don't have to pay the cash entrance fee each time I go.  Except I knew the museum was going to have a cash bar and I wouldn't be able to buy a drink, which is lousy, but their drinks are lousy, too, and every time I've bought a drink there, I  regretted throwing my money away.  I hate going all the way into the City without even enough money for a coffee even if it's doubtful that I might want one.  Nothing is worse than not even having loose change in your pocket in Manhattan.  Even if you don't need it, it's just comforting to know you have that much financial security.

At the Guggenheim, I found out that the half-hour member's meeting, at which the artist Lee Ulan would answer everyone's stupid questions, cost extra.  I didn't remember reading that in my invitation.  Since I didn't have any cash on me, I couldn't go to the meeting, which made me more sorry than ever that I had come.  Since I was there, I took the elevator up to the top of the museum and then walked down Frank Lloyd Wright's magnificent ramp trying to take in the works of Lee Ufan without any desire to to stop and contemplate them.  Walking that ramp in the Guggenheim is always a thrilling experience for me, no matter how many times I've done it, or how else I feel.

Most of Mr. Ufan's works are large rocks sitting in front of a black or white backdrop or on cushions.   I was bored to death, tired, hot and miserable, without even an overpriced, diluted drink in my hand to help releave my misery.  I  looked in a room filled only with  large rocks sitting on pillows that were arranged, according to the museum's sign on the wall, in some kind of spiritual fashion.  His art is mostly about rock placement.  I almost hated it.  I'm a big fan of Buddhism, but Buddhist spirituality expressed in art doesn't do much for me.

The Rocks on Pillows.  The arrangement is supposedly what it's about.

I only spent a half an hour in the museum and then left.  When I left, there were hardly any more people there than when I arrived.  Below is a picture of the cash bar and all the bartenders standing and gazing out into the empty room.

The Cash Bar

I began walking toward the Metropolitan Museum which is only a few blocks away from the Guggenheim.  I thought I might spend a little time there, before going home, so my trip wouldn't be a total bust.  I'm a member there, too, so I don't have to pay to get in there either.  One redeeming feature was that it was a beautiful evening, and I enjoyed the walk south on Fifth Avenue, beside the park, towards the Met.

 Just as I got about a block from the Met, a city bus pulled up right in front of me and I was so tired that I couldn't resist getting on and just going home as soon as I could.

I took this city bus to 42nd Street where I could transfer to the #10 bus to Staten Island which takes me only a block from where I live.  However, before getting on a #10, I stopped in at the main library on 5th to browse at the DVDs and the art books.  I checked out a book called "The Tao of Sketching", which I read on my way home on my #10 bus.  I'm still enjoying the book.

I attend these art events because I love art--most of it--and writing about it on my blog called "Old Woman on a Bicycle."  However, I was so depressed when I got home, I rushed to turn on the TV and sat through "Blue Bloods."  How low can one get.  I didn't even think about writing about the exhibit.  I just erased the whole evening from my mind and didn't think about it again until a day ago when I suddenly thought that maybe I could write something about the exhibit after all.  I had taken a couple of photos, like the one above of the bartenders, that I could use in my post.  I didn't take the photo of the rocks on the pillows.  I got it from the Met's website.  Yesterday, I wrote a post called The Lee Ufan Exhibit at the Guggenheim for my "Old Woman on a Bicycle" blog.

My post is getting quite a few hits including a comment from an art critic in the UK.  It's getting almost more hits than any other post on my blog.  So the evening didn't turn out to be a total waste after all.  If I had stayed at home that night, I wouldn't have written my post, I wouldn't have gotten the book on Chinese Brush Painting, and I probably would have shrunken my I.Q. some more by spending the evening watching TV.  Sometimes, in retrospect, we see redeeming features that we didn't pickup on at the time.  

At Church Last Sunday in Staten Island

Dutch Reform Church of Port Richmond--as it looks today

Since I moved into where I'm now living almost 2 years ago, I've been thinking of attending the Dutch Reform Church in my neighborhood of Port Richmond. This is a historic church in Staten Island, first establish in 1715, by the Dutch who founded Staten Island as well as the rest of New York City.  I finally went last Sunday.  It was an amazing experience.

I once saw an Ingmar Bergman film about this minister who on Sundays spoke to a congregation of about 10 people in a church that would have held a couple of hundred.  By the end of the film, he was preaching to his totally empty church.  Because this minister was so spiritually empty himself, he had nothing to offer to anyone else.

the Dutch Reform Church of Port Richmond in its earlier days--
post card available on Amazon for purchase

Going to this Dutch Reform Church near my house last Saturday, was as if this Ingmar Bergman film had become real life.  There were only about 10 people in the congregation. All old people.  Even so, I rather enjoyed the service.  Leaving, I talked to the minister because he was at the door to shake hands as the people left, as ministers always do.  I thought maybe that he was new to the church and was just taking it over from someone else who hadn't been doing so well.  I asked him how long he had been the minister in that church and he said "7 years."  I couldn't believe it.  He had been the minister in that church for 7 years and only about 10 people came to listen to him preach on Sundays.   I tried to talk to the minister a little to see what he was like.  He seemed spiritually strong to me.  I could tell by looking into his eyes.   I liked him, although I could see that he was kind of a reticent type.  He seemed to lack enthusiasm.  Although, much younger than myself, he looked like an old bearded sea captain, to me.  I gave the minister my card with my blog addresses on it, but not the address for this blog because I hadn't started it yet.  However, I don't have much concern he will find this and read it.  I meet so few people who are computer literate, and hardly any older people.  What I don't understand is how this minister can keep his job when he can't attract people to come to the church.

This post card of the church and the old picture above are available on Amazon for purchase.

I haven't decided if I will go back or not next Sunday.  I did feel better afterward from having gone.  Not from anything that the minister said in particular.  The minister didn't give a sermon, which I rather liked.  I don't like listening to minister's insipid sermons and hardly ever get anything from them except boredom.  He just read from scripture and we sang three hymns.  I actually hate singing hymns because I can't carry a tune and have no voice whatsoever.  The only reason I could sing along at all was that the minister had a pretty good voice that I could hear and follow the tune.  What I like best about the Protestant Church Service is the readings from the Bible and the prayers.  That's all I really need, and that was all I got from this service.   I would kind of like to find out this guy's story.  I think maybe he wasn't cut out to be a minister.  He probably has different interests.  There are many spiritually minded people who aren't really warm and fuzzy people persons.  I've met a few men before like this who become ministers because that seems the right occupation for them, but they don't really have their hearts into that kind of work.  It seems to me, it's equivalent to some doctors, who don't really get along with people all that well (I'm reminded of TV's Dr. House) and they usually end up going into research.  The minister at least asked me to sign the guest book.  As I did I noticed that I was the first person to have signed the Guest Book in over a month.

I think that the Bergman film I'm thinking of is called "Winter Light" or something like that.  I'm not sure.  However, I ordered a DVD from the library that has several Bergman classics on it and I'm hoping that will be on this disk.  I like Ingmar Bergman films, because they are essentially religious in nature.