Impermanence --> Thoughts From the Berlin Wall

As I walked along the Berlin Wall today at The East Side gallery I was struck by more than just the elbows of tween girls trying to take good profpics in front of two men, that I'm sure they don't know, kissing. My feeling came from a little sign at the bottom of the wall. A little sign that said, "it is forbidden to deface or damage the wall. Offenders will be prosecuted." This sent me into a spiral of thoughts. I was under the impression that the art on the wall was always changing. When someone wanted to the just painted over what was there before and repainted on top. Some pieces, like the Brezhnev and Honecker kiss, just lasted longer and had more fame like other pieces of art. And I thought that was amazing. An example of the way this city has embraced (to some extent) impermanence. Because, as I thought, even great works of art could be painted over with a roller to lead way to something else. And this sign saying no, was frustrating. This all being said it is clear that these signs are not enforced. There is some level of respect but people still write their names and draw little penises and even cover the signs themselves in graffiti. But in a city with such a high degree of free expression these little signs demonstrate limits. Limits that I have learned are very important.

I want to talk about 120 Days of Sodom. I really do, but I still feel sick when I think about it. My current thoughts mostly revolve around whether or not the show was a daring and dangerous piece of art, or 90 minutes of degrading, exploitative bullshit. I can't tell if I feel taken advantage of by the show, or if I deserved what I got because I chose to see the show and stay all the way to the end. I have never before left a show before curtain call, I didn't even really know how to applaud for this. I clapped slowly for the actors who did that. Because I don't think I ever could. But then I left. A little because I thought I was going to vomit, or cry, or pass out. But also because I just couldn't be in that room anymore. It was permeated with pain, and blood, and shit, and horribleness. It's just, plainly, not the kind of art I want to do. And I don't think that violence and horror are the way to push the envelope. And this isn't even talking about how awful the heavy handed, metaphor about capitalism and Goldman Sachs and the evils of money was. It just wasn't good. It was jut awful.