"The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you." Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
Jenna was invited to attend the opening night of the Rain Room exhibition, sponsored by Restoration Hardware, at MoMA. a heads up, the wait can be long but we promise it’s worth it…Jenna’s son Beckett came along to the opening.
On May 12th, the MoMA’s much-buzzed-about installation Rain Room opened its doors in a temporary gallery next door to the museum. The exhibition, which first debuted in London in October 2012, is something of an engineering feat, made up of a series of sensors and nozzles that work to fill the space with the feeling of being caught in a downpour—but one that magically pauses just over the heads of the people walking through it. Seriously. Not even a drop.
Mist, the sounds of thousands of droplets—they’re all here. And while the exhibition’s engineers, London-based group Random International, won’t say just how they did it, it’s worth the wait for a walk through their version of a rainstorm to experience it (and Instagram it with the official hashtag, #RainRoom) for yourself.
The Rain Room exhibition at the MoMA runs through July 28th.
Would travel to NYC just for this.
When I was super depressed, I wasn’t working—I was always too depressed. Hemingway did his best work when he didn’t drink, then he drank himself to death and blew his head off with a shotgun. Someone asked John Cheever, “What’d you learn from Hemingway?” and he said “I learned not to blow my head off with a shotgun.” I remember going to the Michigan poetry festival, meeting Etheridge Knight there and Robert Creeley. Creeley was so drunk—he was reading and he only had one eye, of course, and had to hold his book like two inches from his face using his one good eye. But you look at somebody like George Saunders—I think he’s the best short story writer in English alive—that’s somebody who tries very hard to live a sane, alert life.
You’re present when you’re not drinking a fifth of Jack Daniel’s every day. It’s probably better for your writing career, you know? I think being tortured as a virtue is a kind of antiquated sense of what it is to be an artist.
In an interview with The Fix, Mary Karr debunks the toxic mythology that it is necessary to be damaged in order to be creative. My own vehement defiance to that mythology is what led me to choose Ray Bradbury – the ultimate epitome of creating from joy rather than suffering – as the subject of my contribution to The New York Times’ The Lives They Lived.
Pair with Karr on why writers write.
Paige Bradley created one of the most striking sculptures I’ve seen in recent times. Her masterpiece, entitled Expansion, is a beautiful woman seeking inner piece but fractured and bleeding with light. “From the moment we are born, the world tends to have a container already built for us to fit inside: a social security number, a gender, a race, a profession,” says Bradley. “I ponder if we are more defined by the container we are in than what we are inside. Would we recognize ourselves if we could expand beyond our bodies?”
The suburban landscape and the terror that’s creeping beneath the surface and hiding between the trees is something that’s there in all of your work. My family lives in suburban New Jersey and, after living in the city, I’m more afraid there at night than I would be on a street in the middle of New York because it’s such a different feeling—there’s a quiet and stillness and the light is different. And there’s these big, nice houses, but that’s not what’s inside them.
Yes, exactly. For me, it’s like that feeling of being slightly alien, being there but not there kind of thing. But I would never consider making a picture in New York ever. That just wouldn’t even occur to me. There are artists, writers, filmmakers, who are drawn to a particular place and spend their entire career as an artist just working there for inexplicable reasons, really.
that is carved
THAT IS A ROCK
I have no idea how the artist manages to make it looks like not just cloth, but TRANSPARENT cloth. Amazing.
Hey Guys this is a sculpture of a Vestal Virgin, carved during the roman empire. its my favorite and is pretty fucking awesome.
I had the same reaction when I saw this motherfucker in the Louvre
I walked around that hunk of orgasm rock for a good ten minutes trying to figure out HOW.
b-but that’s not how rocks work???!!?
FUCKING BERNINI THO
DID SOMEONE SAY BERNINI? HERE’S BERNINI SCULPTING A FAT CARDINAL.
HERE’S A SELF-PORTRAIT. HE’S A DAMNED SOUL IN HELL, HE BURNED HIS HAND AND SCREAMED IN FRONT OF A MIRROR FOR REFERENCE BECAUSE FUCK EVERYTHING.
OH AND LET’S TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT THOSE GRASPING ORGASM-HANDS
SPEAKING OF ORGASMS HERE’S A NUN MASTURBATING. HE PUT THAT MOTHERFUCKER IN A FUCKING CHAPEL.
DO YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE HE PUT IN A CHAPEL? THIS BITCHING PIECE OF MARBLE.
IS THAT AN ANGEL POINTING A GOLDEN ARROW AT THE CROTCH OF A NUN? YOU BET YOUR FACE IT IS! IS SHE HAVING A MIND-BLOWING ANGEL-ORGASM?
OF FUCKING COURSE SHE IS!
Now that I’ve been to the Borghese Gallery, the Bernini tangent is super relevant.