Don't judge!

This is an email I just sent to Csmn.

I accompanied an undergraduate class to the High Museum of Art today, with my professor who reminds me very much of you. It was a really wonderful visit. The collection was surprisingly decent and the building (especially the Richard Meier half) is unusually, unsuspectingly beautiful. I don't think I've ever been in an exhibition space with so much bright but intelligent light.

I thought and talked a lot about you over the course of the visit (my professor loves: heidegger, nietzsche, graphic novels, fucked up music, wine, film, dostoevsky [he says he doesn't see the Grushenka comparison, though he promised to keep an eye out for any slutty behavior]. Etc.) I found myself repeating - it'd be great if he (you [Csmn]) were here! Then you could argue about this crap and I could listen and look at art. You would probably like the same kind of beer. I think I told you that he became my pre-dissertation advisor a few weeks ago, and he is working on getting a grant to translate those 1949 Heidegger lectures on technology and war and ecology that have been vaulted until pretty recently. Neat stuff, as he would say, though more sarcastically than I can convey, and still have it be funny and kind of sweet.

I discovered an artist I quite like: Deborah Butterfield. She only sculpts horses, mostly out of scrap metal. Sounds dumb - I realize - but I cant explain how - horse-like - the sculpture was. She knows her subjects. And I found myself thinking about whether I could build a sculpture like that at my parents' house this summer. God knows there is enough sheet metal lying around, rusting. I wanted to buy a postcard of her work and send it to you, to say: wish you were here, but they didn't have any. So I bought you a postcard of a Cranach I liked quite a bit, too.

Think of this is email as a postcard placeholder. In the meantime, look her up.

I'm pretty sick and have a pile of work to do, but it was a really, really good day. Made me feel a lot better about a bunch of things. I suppose I'm posting the email because it says almost everything that'd be worth mentioning - and because it might hint at the funny but lovely feeling I had when I walked home afterwards.