Self

Last night was the first Thursday of October. I headed to the Chelsea galleries to check out some openings.

A month ago I attended the first Thursday in September.

That night was hopping. The streets were crawling with people carrying plastic wine glasses and gallery programs. On first glance last night appeared to be much slower. I went into a building on 25th. Then, I emerged to a lovely sight.

The street, so quiet only a half hour before, now had the rhythm and hum of hipsters and other art appreciators traveling from gallery to gallery. It wasn't quite the explosion it had been a month ago, but it was still a scene.

I headed into an opening at the Pace on 25th street. The featured artist was German. It was extremely post-modern stuff: large white glass canvases with elevated black lines.

The more intriguing part of the show, however, was the funhouse mirrors. The German had made large triangular shapes out of funhouse mirrors that viewers could step into.

The wild thing about it was how it made you feel, physically, the more you walked into the triangle. It was dizzying and disorienting, though from a distance it did not appear as though it would be.

The other night I had dinner with a friend who told me about a woman he once knew who broke off an engagement and then held a 'committment to self ceremony' in its place.

I thought about that ceremony when I was standing in the middle of those mirrors.

Introspection is a beautiful thing. But I can't help but wonder, in this age of commiittment to self ceremonies and never-ending self-improvement, if perhaps the German is on to something.

I couldn't handle standing in the middle of those mirrors for more than a few seconds. I backed out quickly and immediately felt better standing among everyone else. A tall guy with a goatee and a hat was standing next to me.

"What's it like in there?" he asked.

"It's a little much," I said, "But go ahead, see for yourself."