Museum Of No Art One Night At The Pool

With or without a drink in hand, moderate temperature, no need to jump into the wet. One night AT the pool, not inside. Palm trees or succulents - not far from here, the vegetation has adapted to the situation. A soft rustling: Possibly crickets, probably also the wind. No traffic and certainly no civilization, which right now would probably only disturb with its long agenda of responsibilities. Hypnosis AND MUD - Healing hypnosis, healing mud. The half-frustrating, half-liberating feeling of saturated soil between the toes. A state of inner peace. Instead of a voice, you hear primitivist percussive explorations. A groping and grasping of the bare feet, with delicate toes. Abstraction is followed by the concrete: a walk through the Orchideengarten Ruse, an orchid garden close to the Bulgarian town and not far from the Romanian border. Digitally, but not unreal. Perhaps even better than reality - anyone can do that. The (unofficial) soundtrack to this would not only make the Canadian composer Mort Garson happy. A lady‘s shoe kindly looks at us. If you turn around, you arrive on the other side: A Line HAS TWO Sides. Conundrum-like images, dissolved one-dimensionality. Candid narrative ambiance. A clarinet calls to duty. Civilization and traffic after all? Sunbeams ON Your CAR. Urgency, a clamor of voices - both in their best form. Yet again – the clarinet, the blunt reality: ONE Night AT THE Pool. We are still standing here, we probably never left. A three-part journey – with delicate transitions. Three destinations: Now forever united. Dissonant and yet pensive. In the far distance the advertisement for the collected works of Meredith Monk. Hair erect, the little skin nerves contract, goosebumps - at last!