Spending my summer hours investigating the various interpretations of art in the city, I have become more tolerant of my surrounding and have gained a respect for all attempts at innovation. While I may not instantly realize the deep, heart-wrenching beauty of each work I observe, I have come to exercise a measure of patience while viewing. Art is not a vehicle that provides instant gratification. It is a rarity when the sublimity of an artwork engulfs me upon my first viewing; rather, I must ponder, thinking simultaneously about the fluid dialogue between the physical and conceptual that resulted in the product under my investigation in the present.
Walking into a room of psychedelic sound at Dia Chelsea, I experienced a sensory overload. My eardrums thumped, my eyes blurred while readjusting to darkness, my feet grasped the cloud-like white carpet, all while my body shuddered. Tentatively stepping forward into a man-made world of artistic fantasy, I felt numb. However, my senses soon reawakened. Taking a seat upon the floor, I gazed shifted my gaze to the monumental projection. At first the projection appeared static, diminished by the computer generated background noise. It was only after I succumbed to the absurdity of the experience that I noticed the gradual color shifts in the work before me. Mesmerized I watched the subtle synchronization of color, light, and sound.
Yet, it is only now—a month after I first viewed Dream House by La Monte Young, Marian Zazeela, and Jung Hee Choi at Dia Chelsea, that I see the relevance of the multi-sensory work. Each morning I mindlessly enter the commuting commotion, navigate my way through teeming tourist crowds, and race down the subway steps. Consumed with my daily activities, I diminish the activity around me to inconsequential white noise. However, to realize the beauty of humanity, I must slow down and become more conscious of the life which pulsates around me.