Zen

Another section of story. 2 1/2 chapters to go!

Since meeting Gina and joining Archaos Walters life had changed out of all recognition. He had broken out of his box literally and figuratively and his sad and lonely days at the Coral Island seemed long distant and dreamlike. Every day in the past had been dull, loveless, and the same. Every day now was exciting, rich and varied and he felt valued and accepted. As the Y wound their way towards Prague, Archaos traced a similar route with many more stops, their attractions being much in demand as word spread that there was a new and much more exciting circus in town. In the Archaos way his act had developed on route with ideas and innovations introduced from a variety of directions including gratifyingly his own. In addition to his corrugated flower constructions Walter had added a number of other “artist strongman” elements to his act. His powerful hands wrought a range of extraordinary shapes from base metals. He seemed to see the new shape within the old effortlessly and with an imagination he never knew he possessed, created ever more intricate and astounding objects.
He was popular amongst the troupe putting in the hard hours between shows, his strength a massive asset, as the circus grew in size and the tent and attendant structures became bigger heavier and more complex. He worked hard and he played hard, making up for the years of solitude and boredom. Play meant more than sex drugs and rock and roll though there was plenty of that. Every city was a revelation, the architecture, the culture, the food, the galleries especially the galleries. He absorbed it all. He was drawn more to the modern than the masters. He, for instance, spent every spare moment he had in Berlin investigating a number of exhibits in the Hamburger Bahnhof gallery.
 
 
There was at the time a large retrospective exhibition by famous American sculptor and multi media artist Bruce Nauman. Though he didn’t have time to study closely the 31 concepts central to the oeuvre of Nauman’s work he nevertheless thoroughly enjoyed watching himself on video in the ‘experience architecture’ and being frightened by the film ‘Clown torture’ a work exploring the psychological violence inherent in play. He stared wide eyed at the vibrant primary tones of the various neon installations, maybe unaware of the connection between sex, violence and death that the works explored but enjoying it anyway. In the old corridors and rooms of the former station’s warehouses every corner produced some extraordinary image film or sculpture usually eliciting a mixture of curiosity, surprise, puzzlement, pleasure and laughter. ‘Why is that man shaving a cactus?’ ‘Good question!’ ‘Why does that rotating head keep saying ‘lip-sync’?’ ‘You tell me!’
 A conceptual work by Absalom involving a video man screaming for about 5 minutes until his voice gave out particularly engaged him It made him think of aging, fear but eventually he just found it funny. He was embarrassed by his lack of art history expertise but Gina pointed out that from Dada to Fluxus many anti art movements had stated aims of producing work that was simple and fun, taking jabs at the seriousness of modern art, prizing childlikeness. He wondered quietly whether in his tiny way he belonged to this community People producing objects wrought from a subconscious desire to create and leave a mark, artists.
“I was here” 
Didn’t one of the Y’s songs have a chorus
“We’re serious as well, something masquerading as nothing”
 
On the way to the Berlinische Galerie in the wonderfully funky Kreutzberg area they passed a shop front full of feathers being blown about by large industrial blowers. The meaning of this installation: Feathered Chaos, by Alexei Kostroma, escaped them but the image was beautiful, captivating and memorable.
Outside the Berlinsche Galerie, they amused ourselves on the 80 metre long shining yellow field of letters on black asphalt. Ostensibly a jumbled up mix of all the names of artists in the museum it also acted as an excellent hopscotch/twister.
It was in the middle of a particularly tricky twist that he first felt something, a quickening in his veins, a slight vacancy in his head.