unending days

Somewhere during the last two weeks I lost track of virtual life. My facebook adventures have come to a complete standstill not much more than three weeks after their celebrated beginning. What do people see in it? I haven't posted to my blog either. It not that nothing worth mentioning has happened. It's that so many things are happening that I don't find the time mentioning them.

My sister left town and vowed to come back. I can't blame her. How can ten days possibly give you more than a thoroughly unsatisfying glimpse of this magnificent town, an unfulfilled teaser that screams for more? The same feeling was experienced and voiced by two Italian friends of mine who spent the last few days exploring a town that continues to dress up in its finest.

Who would have thought November afternoons can be spend picnicking in the park – among hundreds doing the same. No one was braving the miserable cold. Incredibly and somewhat incredulously, everyone felt the gentle touch of sun on their faces, and some brave souls on recklessly exposed skin.

My guest left this morning, or rather I left them – at the airport at six. Redundant evidence that I'm not a morning person was given when I drove off following sign for "The West". I live in West London, but that's still East of Heathrow. Aided by thinning civilization and unfamiliar names, it still took me a good five minutes to notice my mistake while blasting away from the rising sun at seventy miles per hour.

Late in the afternoon, after another walk in St. James's Park, wonderfully lit by the low sun but noisily crowded with boisterous families feeding swans and squirrels, I went to Tate Britain to see the Turner Prize show. This retrospective assembled all the winners of Britain's most prestigious modern art award since its inception 23 years ago. The exhibition was as breathtaking in its depth as some of the pieces were stunning in their art.

I saw the first video art that ever captivated me, Gillian Wearing's "live group photograph" of some thirty police officers. They were asked to remain as still as possible for the sixty minutes of the shoot, but move and fidget with increasing discomfort. Nothing happens – in the most intense way.

Then there were Anish Kapoor's gigantic cups, covered in dark blue pigment and hung up on the wall with their open end facing the viewer. Looking at them was like taking a visual plunge in uncharted waters – and drowning inevitably, for there was a point in the cup where the eye could make out neither color nor texture. The blue became black, the walls invisible, and the cup bottomless.

My third favorite was the iconic Mother and Child, Divided (used to advertise the show). The rather formal title was probably chosen for effect, forgoing the tell-all directness of "Cow and Calf, Cut in Half", but that's what it was. Four large glass tanks house a cow and her baby, each cut in half and preserved in formaldehyde and silicon. Walking through the cow halves was spooky and the piece itself brilliantly irreverent.