A day in (the) life of…..
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Hi all Long time between drinks The trip away was fabulous- a clearing of the air inside and out. There’s one particular day of my travels that stands alone. A day I’d like to tell you about – the day we flew down to Culver City to visit a museum which has a touch of the miraculous about it : The Museum of Jurassic Technology. On the surface of it I bet you’re thinking: what has this got to do with Thinking Through the Body? Well, I think it’s a story about engagement and absorption and pure wonder and undefined truths- of being immersed in a wondrous state of not knowing anything, yet at the same time feeling as though all of one’s senses have been tweeked into life. We booked our flights on the net. A day’s adventure- flying early morning from San Francisco down to Culver City, Los Angeles – coming back on the evening plane. The getting there took less that an hour. We landed, jumped into a taxi and sped off into the wide bleached yonder. It’s a dry and dusty part of the world. Wide streets busy with trucks and dirty cars and neon lights flashing Big Burgers at you. One withered wind-blasted palm tree every two kilometres. The taxi driver is completely mystified. The Moooseum of Jurassic Technology???????Nevrrrrrrrr hrrrrrd o’thaa’ one beforrrrrrrr. Ya shrrrrrrrr ya got the name rrrright? On Venice Boulevarde right?????? Hmmmnnn. Oh my god! Tharrrrrrrr tis…wow…nvrrrrr did see that beforrrre. Must’ve driven past it a hundred times orrrr morrrre… What the hell is in tharrrr?????
Well what could I say, having never been here myself before. Just here on a whim. A waft of something entirely curious. Promising. A strange little façade: Its announcement to the outside world is a little quirky, but definitely understated compared to the bellowing signage of the fast food industries also sharing the street. It’s single-fronted, of a different era, with a green door and worn brass door-bell . There’s a wee classic fountain complete with fine reeds and two niches in the walls at either side- one containing and ostrich egg and the other with a storm of dried moths erupting from a stone vase. The glass is smudged with fingerprints. It’s hours of operation are as measured and precious as these strange vitrines. But we get there just on opening and enter expecting such a small museum will take us off the streets for an hour to two at the most. The first thing I notice is that the young woman behind the cluttered from desk is completed unmoved by the fact that there is a highly excited middle-aged tourist trying to impress on her the amazing commitment we have made towards getting there…half way around the world just to visit this museum…this day…for these few hours…all that way from Australia. Hmmn…nope…not impressed. I twig it must happen all the time- people seeking this place. Oh well, I figure I’m here on my own compelling journey anyway, no need for reassurance about that one.
It’s so dark ,the lighting is unique. Small mounted lights aimed at a rickety collection of roughly cut squares of mirror mounted on wire ricochet the light and split eerie beams onto their targets. There are few other light-sources. I realize nothing is direct in here. The first exhibit : I walk up to a glass case jutting out at eye-level from a wooden veneer-clad wall and find myself gazing into a magnifying lens trained on a single Carved fruit-stone mounted in a very old-fashioned way on a metal rod and a turned wooden base. Yeah…I think….there’s some carving there…but I’ve see a few of these carved fruit-stones before…..why is this so remarkable??????????? So I pull my head away and look for some explanation. There’s some writing on the wall near by. I look around…there seems to be a lot of text on the walls near strange objects and various doorways leading of in several directions to other rooms. People from all parts of the universe ( some I suspect from other planets) are here sharing the search with me…but I feel alone. Someone occasionally gaffaws with laughter, others have wry smiles, whilst most look completely mystified. People are so interesting when they are lost. To avoid being lost I diligently read on….
I read and read and read. Hmmn…Peer at the stone again… Hmnn…(I’m straining now to see the detail)… hmmmn…well…possibly…yeah maybe it’s all there…on this wee stone…not sure….but…maybe…but how would it fit… well…perhaps…hmmmmn? I think we think too much, there’s always fertile ground in disbelief. Suspension of belief though is an entirely different ball-game. But I reckon this is how to access the absolute wonder of this place. It’s what being human is all about- having the ability to become consciously absorbed in not knowing. Well…maybe? I’m keen to step further inside … curiousity leads me in deeper…to another question, led by a grain of truth…maybe, maybe not…can I go in deeper still, all senses opened wide. The second exhibit: I can hear a howling from another dark room. OOOOhhhhh. It’s eeirie . Dark. The howling. It’s a wild dog…a coyote I think…it’s penetrating. I’m looking with my ears. Into the dark. Feeling with my ears into a small room and in the middle another glass box. There’s a viewing contraption at one end and at the other a chair inviting me to see this work from a particular angle. I recognise an animal taxidermied and dislocated – a coyote’s head mounted on the glass jutting into the internal space of this vitrine- lips pulled back over gnarly bared white teeth, red angry tongue. On the floor of this transparent box is a micro-environment of desert terrain, dust stones and driftwood. The howling is relentless and I sift around in my senses for clues. I feel drawn in compelled inside this case and climb into the chair to get closer. My eyes are met with cubes of glass like clumsy spectacles focused at the place one would expect the coyotes brain would be. I imagine. I look and can hear with my eyes now. The sound of the howling is uncovered. There is a moving picture projected on the side of the animals head….I feel inside it. It’s a small man, sitting on a chair…dressed in white…alone in white and he is raising his head baying in the darkness…howling like a wild dog. The image is moving. I can still feel it clearly. Haunting. Profound. Beautiful. Solitary. On an on: A sculpture of the Pope made from a single human hair , coloured with a brush also made from a single human hair –on strokes made between heartbeats……on and on……a fully-functioning Russian tea-room complete with exquisite samovar and tea-maid and live lounging Russian wolfhounds….on and on …..the story of………..a tale of… on and on…….on and on……….. I look at my watch finally….four hours have evaporated and I still want more of this ….not knowing….not understanding. Am I dreaming? No I haven’t fallen asleep. I’m not in the least bit bored or frustrated. Every neurone, every cell is tingling. A rare tingling. I’ve let my body do the thinking.
Catherine Truman. October 2008  |