"I
find great comfort in crowds," crowed my good friend Currado Malaspina
as we watched the throngs of tourists winding their way towards
Beijing's Forbidden City.
"An uncritical mass is nothing but a messy consensus of inoffensive organ meat".
"... and it's a beautiful thing to behold."
One never knows when Currado is being completely serious. There was indeed a mystic beauty in the ordered chaos of Tiananmen Square. As we watched the brass chorus of brightly colored synthetics dolefully saunter along the roped paths I wondered aloud if Mao would be spinning in his crypt.
"His favorite color was grey," barked one of the locals, ignoring the western convention of minding one's own freakin' business. After assuring our new found friend that we were interested in neither a foot massage nor a lottery ticket we followed the flock toward the Yellow Crane Pavilion.
"Thank God for ordinary people," sighed Currado and I think this time he was being sincere.
"Without them, where would we be, but us, if we suddenly disappeared it would scarcely stir a bedbug."
And reflecting on my good friend's latest work I'm afraid this time the rabble would be right.
"An uncritical mass is nothing but a messy consensus of inoffensive organ meat".
"... and it's a beautiful thing to behold."
One never knows when Currado is being completely serious. There was indeed a mystic beauty in the ordered chaos of Tiananmen Square. As we watched the brass chorus of brightly colored synthetics dolefully saunter along the roped paths I wondered aloud if Mao would be spinning in his crypt.
"His favorite color was grey," barked one of the locals, ignoring the western convention of minding one's own freakin' business. After assuring our new found friend that we were interested in neither a foot massage nor a lottery ticket we followed the flock toward the Yellow Crane Pavilion.
"Thank God for ordinary people," sighed Currado and I think this time he was being sincere.
"Without them, where would we be, but us, if we suddenly disappeared it would scarcely stir a bedbug."
 |
| Currado Malaspin, 2014 |
And reflecting on my good friend's latest work I'm afraid this time the rabble would be right.
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