Filed under: art, museums, streetart | Tags: friedrichshain, Hamburger Bahnhof, ubiquitous streetart
For a girl who likes to think she’s real shiny and smart, it’s always kind of a dark jolt to the solar plexus when things happen in a way she can’t explain. It’s not pretty to feel naïve.
In such (rare!) situations, she likes to cruise blackly through the afternoon with a camera, Nirvana grunging out of the ‘Pod, then get drunk in some glittering sweaty disco cave and wink at handsome strangers until something takes. (This post is trying to focus on Part I of this scenario, o my butterflies, but more on grooving and intrigue shortly.)
<<Berlin is plastered with El Bocho‘s doings; this one is lookin pretty good.
<<kinda hard to articulate what I like about this whole situation.
<<what about this one? do we like it, or is it annoying?
<<i KNOW that i feel good about the Zeebs.>>
Feeling exhausted by hours of staring at street trash until it looked like art, I moved the whole operation to the Hamburger Bahnhof, where they have little signs to TELL you politely that the two basketballs floating in a fish tank are DEFINITELY ART.
But I didn’t come here to hate on the Bahnhof. Somehow I think an hour of the looming abstracted weirdness of Warhol and Beuys and Twombly were just what I was wanting. Sometimes, shit ain’t tryin to make sense, they told me. Word, I said.
Emerging freshly cultured into an unexpected blue neon glow was the moment that saved me. Feeling deliciously solid & self-contained, I light the evening’s first cigarette; then time starts up again, I take a drag and I stride on into Saturday night, beaming electric blue poise.
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