by paul montero
SMARTER THAN ART
Yes, life for an HIV-positive person in this coun-
try is easier to survive than in most other parts of the world, but not everyone’s path is a gilded conveyor belt with bystanders cheering us toward the finish line. For some of us, life is nothing but a futile rat race. And depending on the severity of its overwhelming nature, the question of whether or not we want to even continue participating can haunt every wak- ing moment. Placing personal guilt and paralyzing fear of death aside, those of us facing these poten- tially final thoughts should also mentally collect a few meaningful reasons to live—at the very least to say we’d thought our actions through. Like many individuals in my income bracket, I
made the premature assumption last year that I’d be able to save up enough money to take a vacation during 2014 and miss work without feeling financial backlash. I was wrong...but I went anyway. Though my vacation companion was gracious enough to cover the many expenses of the trip, I was guilt- ridden for having to rely on the generosity of another. Adding salt to the wound, the meager funds I was able to reserve were placed on hold by the hotel for the duration of my stay. Needless to say, the potential for fun on this trip had just been kicked in the balls. Of course, improvisation being the illegitimate child of necessity, the scope of my recreation was forced down to venues and attractions that charged no admission fee to enjoy. Fortunately Palm Springs had me covered. But
beyond the festive street fairs, sidewalk performance artists and mid-century modern architecture tours,
50 RAGE monthly | MARCH 2014 | MARCH 2014
the Coachella Valley’s shade-sheltered oasis high- lights an impressively curated collection of culture and canvas: the Palm Springs Art Museum. I know, living paycheck-to-paycheck and jamming as many of the day’s hours onto a timesheet prevents us the stillness of mind to truly appreciate an expression of sociopolitical commentary. But this is a special case. The museum offers free admission on Thursdays, with four floors of fascinating new exhibitions scheduled at all times of the year. There’s bound to be a piece that immediately strikes your eye and speaks
“Life is what you make of it.”
Do you notice how someone almost always spouts thatcliché with a
silver spoon hanging out of his or her mouth?
to you as if you’re the only one who’s ever understood its intended message. For me, this masterpiece was the collage titled
“Pictures of Magazine 2: After Breakfast After Elin Danielson-Gambogi” by Brazilian artist Vik Muniz. At first striking glance, this massive piece appears
to be a chunky-stroke expressionist recreation of Elin Danielson-Gambogi’s “After Breakfast. But each step closer reveals every component of this illusion to be an amalgam of photos and magazine images fused together by Muniz to portray an apathetic young woman appearing to pass the time smoking away the remnants of her meal. Even closer inspection
exposes bursts of clamorous imagery representing her worries, doubts, pressures and regrets. Her skin and dress are made up of the herd of unattainably manicured models she’s prodded to mimic. Her head and surrounding aura are composed of power icons from history and ominously watchful eyes. The ecstatic swirls of smoke she billows outward appear to be images of sultry gratification mixed with stark, panicking pangs. The entire room, down to the eggs and coffee on her tablecloth, carried the weight of her memories, the strain of her hopes and ultimately spoke volumes of the depth of emotional attach- ment we all unwittingly force onto our inanimate surroundings. All in all, the 20 minutes I spent examining this thoughtful creation made me feel less alone. And I don’t mean that in the sense that there’s a magic man in the clouds who loves us all so much that he’ll condemn us to an eternity of fiery torment if we suc- cumb to our sinful nature, which he himself claims to have designed in his image. What I mean by feeling less alone is that someone somewhere has felt and attempted to contain a myriad of life’s daily madness with a jar of nonchalant composure, just like many of us do every day. We don’t get too many chances to be reminded
that we’re not alone. Life will continue being a con- stant, menacing megaphone barking at us to hurry up, do better and force a smile to fluff up sales. But at least now we can see each other as relatable souls in the same situation, rather than a scurry of rats racing for the same hunk of tainted cheese.
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