He and She, your long-patient docents, were to have been giving you a tour of the  wonderfully sophisticated white-walled upscale galleries here at the Temporary Museum  of Enfant Terrible Culture, but alas more delays.  This delay due to antagonism towards “Pastoral” paintings, which await hanging on those white-walls.  The lack of support by the anarchistics is focused on the question of how rustic/serene paintings could ever have a significant theory with the “critical edge” necessary to be included among their highly emotive, and superior system offerings.

Rustic serenity, it is a bit difficult for the average anarchical reunion attendee.  Simply put, conjuring the rustic is just getting props and costumes, a new accent, maybe some sheep.  The serenity part though,  requires escaping into a complex simplicity, and acceptance of the dirty disheveled itchy part of nature, the smells of rotting wetness (there is always something dying), the scratchy sticks and insect buzz.

This opposes the attendees sophistication which requires compression into complicatedness,  and acceptance of the dirty, disheveled, itchy-palm (financial) part of modernity, the concrete chaos-perfume (there is always something dead), the scratchy-chic strangers and traffic noise.

Enfant terrible behavior, cosmopolitan instincts throwing emotion-bombs; would be dissipated, consumed, and unnoticed in the rustic landscape.

As the stress built at the gallery of the Temporary Museum He and She, as you can see, decided again to wander off to the river, somewhat disguised: (keep a careful distance, lest we interfere). Once again their actions are an enigma…a misguided mention of a memory?…an inappropriate answer?..some mysterious duplicity?   Maybe its’ only a rustic-serene moment as they expunge some bit of adhered sophistication.

Later, maybe eased somewhat, and better able to be with you, He and She will rejoin you and the others.  But now…

…they temporarily escape the imperious and infantile and confront only each other, maybe desiring a picnic, maybe an island of something enjoyable;  maybe a floating mystery..

 

 

 

 

 

…or, maybe,  the pleasurable gifts of October.

The air is chilling, and people are gathering, join us next Saturday…