Marina Abramovic At The MOMA

I went there all alone without knowing anyone. People around me were complete strangers, relaxed and focused. I turned my eyes towards the square, and the two individuals who were sitting there. In front of each other, combining the air into magic. The energy of emotions fill the room with a boom. Also, the surrounding sounds from people bounce - completing the reality of the present.

I mean, what I see is a beautiful of reality as a whole. I see people's fear come up to the square, released and determined to turn it around to its narrow ground! The surface changes on each person like a waterfall. The change of color when it comes around...drops down when you see it from another perspective or another light, when the sunshine is shining bright! Turning to the level of hundreds of colors, sometimes it´s see-through or could be solid like stones - a magical combination that is caught among us.

This is what I see without any expectations on my reactions. Just be, inhale the substance of the situation, undress the layers that each human puts on to conduct oneself in a specific manner. I exposed my fear and also my care. I exposed my respect to the viewers that surround me but also admiration to the ones I am focused.

Then suddenly, from nowhere, a man came up to me, handed me a green piece of paper. Couldn't see his face only the light pink shirt that flew away....and disappeared with a blur.

On the green paper it was written:

"To the unknown female the other side of Marina. Even more, that in the truncated wonder of viewers, the one we´ve come to view is not the only. Although solace seems impossible in that chair, is there not solace as well across the square? Someone whispers what type of art, some breath carts its incapable words into sigth for the aside. Yet there is luminosity or what it feels like to say luminosity while having it whole in relgase. Marina the other women there is young and poised to lightly strike the room down. Even beauty or again, what it mean to say such words cannot figure her in. Yet I´m writing this, She is writing as well, smooth hair from a distance, fall in a slight undertone. The same rustle and ... of her leather jacket. Long legs in a lean which allure careens. Marina, today my eyes went away and were renewed. Yet this is a passing note, a look unlost" T.F. Dorholt 5/17/10

I read it twice, embraced by the note, brought together by art. Marina, thank you for an experience beyond control of humans feelings and circumstances, and thank you to the mystical man in the pink shirt for making life even more unexpected and fun - to live, to be open to the things around.