Took a trip up to Beacon. Ran through the station at 42nd to make the shuttle to Grand Central, then ran through the main concourse of Grand Central, never touching any of the hundreds of people I slalomed through. Missed my train by two minutes.
An outburst in the quiet car didn't disperse the fog on the Hudson.
Body awareness and disorientation in the elliptical sculptures of Richard Serra. Reminds me of crashing into the shore on an ocean wave, of letting the ocean's force toss you with all its violence in the safety of six inches of water. Came out a little lightheaded.
Then the experience of Dan Flavin: my non-narrative refuge, a dream. These kinds of spaces becoming more and more necessary for my well-being. The Dream House. Flavin. Turrell. Who else? In my own work I mainly focus on narrative, but I've decided to follow this thread of phenomenology in art and see where it takes me.