When I was a child, my father once told me about a time that it stormed when he was young. How the rain came down in sheets on one side of the street and on the other, nothing. Dry and clouded, but serene. You never think about the edges of a storm like that, do you? How there could be a line on the ground where it lands. In an odd way, that story he told me planted a seed, and I have always wanted to see that same thing. Call it a life goal, with the knowledge that in all likelihood I never would master that right place, right time kind of serendipity.
So, honestly, the Rain Room at MoMA might be the closest I ever get.
Now, I am not a fan of lines. Especially not lines that wrap around an avenue block, that take up half the day, that require arriving earlier than I often wake up. So blockbuster art exhibits where half of New York (and America it seems) shows up, clearly pose a dilemma for me. But I gave it one more go, coffee in hand, and let me just say I have never waited in line for anything as long as I did for that. And somehow, it was fun.
A lot of that had to do with spending the day with my friend Josh — an old colleague from our Columbus days turned New York compatriot, not to mention a very talented designer — who made the (many) hours fly.
You know, the truth is, when I think back on it, I’ll think about the 10 minutes I spent feeling like a child inside more than the 5+ hours spent waiting in line. And controlling the rain, testing its boundaries, standing right next to it — within it, surrounded, in fact — and not getting wet? Well, until the real thing hits, we’ll check that dream off the bucket list.
7 months ago
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