Heading south, we rode the train to Philadelphia to visit friends, Brad and Pat, in their town house just across the river from Central City. I walked across the bridge early in the morning, capturing a painter, his easel and brushes, and his bike...he intent on capturing the boat houses along the Schuylkill. "to capture"...hmmm...is that why we take pictures...to capture what can not really be captured? to make permanent what is impermanent?
On the other side of the river are Philadelphia's great monuments...including the Museum of Art at the end of a long boulevard. The boulevard was full on Saturday morning with runners about to start an 8 K race. The lights of the police cars blocking the road and the roar of the loudspeakers sent the pack off with a great start. I did not stick around to see who came in first...clearly it was a morning for outdoor exercise.
In the afternoon, I went back to the museum. I love the interaction of art, architecture and people. The way in which they dissect or just glance at the paintings, pinned to the walls, or sculptures, placed in the center of halls is a kind of discourse on reality. So what does the artist mean? And why is it in this room? And how do I feel reacting to what is put before me? I guess it is a kind of question, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" "What is the meaning of this painting if no one sees it?" So it is the interaction, the point of contact, taking place in a stage-managed setting (the museum is, after all, the sister of the theatre), that most engages me. On a sunny day in Philadelphia.
And then you step outside...looking the other way down that long boulevard, into the center of the city. The runners have run home. The sky is darkened...traffic has thinned...and it is back across the bridge, back to Brad and Pat's...we are going out for dinner. Lebanese food.
