"Arabella Huntington was 17 when she came to New York with nothing..." #thememorypalace #latergramsfordays (at The American Wing, The Metropolitan Museum Of Art)
Music * We start off with Wien, by Labradford. * The guys head out to the work site to Piano 3, from Jon Brion’s score to Synecdoche, New York. * Then we hear a bit of Metamorphosis by Vladam…
I often find myself thinking that there is no more perfect example on Earth to define humanity than New York City. Having recently migrated from Manhattan to Brooklyn makes me look at the East River, and it’s bridges, anew.
There is something so fascinating about bridges. I will go out of my way, drive an extra few minutes or walk the long way home from the subway, to cross a good bridge. I like to marvel at the engineering, to wonder how long it took to plan and build, to imagine what went through the designer’s mind before the building even started.
I’ve adored Nate DiMeo’s The Memory Palace for years (and may have written something about it here before). So this is how I will be starting every other Thursday morning for the next few months :)
The Navajo name for Upper Antelope Canyon is Tsé bighánílíní (spelling provided by Wikipedia), which means "the place where water runs through rocks”. It’s pretty small, as far as canyons go, only about 200m in length. Because the Navajo Nation has declared it a Navajo Tribal Park, one is only allowed in with a Navajo guide. Our guide was a funny teenager, with horrible taste in music, which we were subjected to on the truck drive down to the canyon entrance.
Walking in felt like walking into an Indiana Jones movie, even with all the camera toting tourists around. Maybe it was the collection of bullet holes along the entrance walls, which our guide told us were from a couple of decades ago, before it was declared a protected park, when it was a site for teenage ragers.
It’s off season though, so we had plenty of elbow room. And my original annoyance at feeling like I had fallen into a tourist trap quickly evaporated a few steps inside.
This place is visual poetry. The flash flood carved sandstone is at times like water frozen in time, then like an alien planet. I could have stayed there for hours, watching the light change.
Here is our guide taking a “good couple’s photo” of some our tour companions.
Of course, Ana and I made him take the same photo of us immediately after.
I should probably elaborate on all the feelings that this stirs up in me, especially as I have been trying to concentrate on writing lately, but I’ll save that for later. For now: this is great and it moved me.
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