Calder on the Sea (Today, Last Year) Humlebæk Denmark, Feb 16, 2013
I went there because you told me too. What a weird strange series of events. I was supposed to be here with you—sitting smiling at this Calder on the sea. With you, he is your favorite, that Sandy Calder.
Instead I got the train to Humlebæk alone. Across the aisle from me on the train were two American Scientologists on their way to spread the word through Denmark. Don’t they get that you are not the religious kind? You come from those who worshiped trees and stones and waterfalls, not things that can’t be seen. You like evidence before you believe.
I walked from the train to the museum. I took a picture of a stack of wood in someones driveway. I kept walking along the icy two lane road to Louisiana. When I took you home months before you said that my museum reminded you of your museum—-so I had to see. And it did. The building fitting into the landscape there along the sea was just like mine hugging the woods out in the country. They were two of the same, from different places, but the same. Just like us.
We would ruminate on how we found each other so far apart. How we had such similar natures but such different upbringings. How it was a movie and we were the stars. How it was the joke “A girl walks into a bar”. But here I was alone.
I wandered through the museum seeing early Andy Warhol sketches and thinking about how much he wasn’t good. And how it maybe is all about who you know that gets you were you need to be. Maybe I am like early Andy Warhol—in my mind it all looks perfect—but I fail in the execution. A visionary for what my art/life could be, but unable to sketch it in a masterful way until I meet those people who propel me into stardom.
I ate lunch in the restaurant. Surrounded by those speaking your tongue, eating your food. From the window of the restaurant I could see it—this sculpture. This mobile. This place where we were really supposed to be together as I had seen it in my mind. I go out, to get a closer look. To be closer to where you are. I take some pictures of Little Janey-Waney. Then scuttle back inside from the cold. Everything is making it hard to be close to you now, even the elements.
I get to the special exhibition, Tara Donovan. Her work uses the forces of physics to keep objects together. Why can’t the forces of physics work for us I think. There is a undulating wall, which is made of straws of different lengths just laying on one another, holding each other in place. Like we had done those long nights. If you put your ear near it you can hear the ocean, the roar of the strong ocean. However, it is so delicate that if you were to touch it it would all come tumbling down just like Humpty Dumpty from the wall. A combination of delicacy and strength: grace.
I remember sitting across from a grandmother and her small grandson on the way back to Copenhagen. He had a cochlear implant. I have always imaged what sensation those provide. I can’t imagine how Danish, an already crazy sounding language translates through one. I watched as the grandma wrangles in the toddler who had no idea of his difference. He was two and he wanted to stand on his chair for a better look out the window. A better view out into the snowy world. We all just want a better view.
Back in Copenhagen I did what any good American girl with a broken heart would do, I went for a beer. Waiting for you to text about the next day—you never did. So I made friends at the bar. Solo girl + film camera = questions to follow. Two Swedes were in town from across the sea. Professors of science, they both spend most of the time on their “boys night” talking about how much they loved their ladies. Love is the great equalizer. No matter how academic/rich/famous you are; you always get to matters of the heart over a beer.
After beers I stumbled back to my hotel with the library book wallpaper. You were just kilometers away the whole day. Closer than we had been for months. But now, we were at that sad part of the movie were the girl cries on couches for months between scenes of trying to live life. We were now the punchline of the joke. We were falling out of grace.