The Nomadic VIP

The Nomadic Museum happened to me recently and I am not certain yet on how to sort out all the thoughts that came to my mind. On the first place, I was before a bit discouraged to attend due to the thousands of people that were queuing up in Mexico's main square (I have a selective crowd-phobia) and on the second, I hated to think that it became a common place. You know, the kind of exhibit that everybody finds 'nice' and becomes a no-brainer.

But then the VIP pass came and I was there sipping white wine, walking in hills and taking my time in front of each picture. In addition, Carlos met the photographer and told me that he went away for months, carrying a backpack and his camera, and then re-emerging again with tons of films to develop; his publisher then could start breathing again.

So what actually makes me think and write is not really the artistic/non-artistic value of Gregory Colbert's work (it has been a bit polemic), but how different an art exhibit might look depending on if you are a VIP or not. I always considered myself a VIP in museums because seeing the picture/photo/sculpture I loved in the real life is quite a privilege. But this kind of VIP was different; I mean that different dimensions/realities can co-exist and do not even come close to each other.

T told me this week that one's brain creates reality; that and the possibility to be for a while one in a million, change the perception of the world we see. Take for example standing in front of one of the exhibit pictures. Does it feel the same to have queued up for three hours under the sun and take a small look at it than to have walked through the open gates and then hang out in there as in a cocktail lounge? How much does the desire to see something takes part in loving it or not? Despite having had a terrific time, the Nomadic Museum was about me and Carlos looking great; usually when I go to a Museum I stop existing and seeing the works I longed for give me a rush very close to cry.

Coming back to the art I saw, although the Nomadic Museum took its name from the travelling part, I had a feeling of loneliness when I saw Colbert's work. His pictures are technically perfect, but the closed-eyed expressions of all his subjects makes them being very far away from the spectator. Modigliani was another one that did not have eyes in portraits, his motto was 'I will paint your eyes when I know your soul'. But in Colbert's photos there are no souls.

I thought about this book I read - 'The Kite Runner'; there was a character that compared himself to a flower that had roots on water - he never settled down. That is very close to my own definition of a nomadic life.

There are days when I miss my life in Denmark as something that should be there and is not. And in those days I'd give my kingdom for a kiss upon his shoulder/all my blood for the sweetness of his laughter. But on those days I think as well that coming back to where my roots are was a choice that can only make me better. I had to stop being a common nomad to become a happy VIP.