STATUS: Miss A está leyendo a Frank O'Hara

No suelo publicar en el blog cosas que yo no haya escrito. De hecho, creo que antes de esto sólo lo he hecho una vez. Pero en este caso, repito aquella excepción para compartir una genialidad de Frank O'Hara. No sé qué es lo que más me gusta, si es que habla del Frick que sin duda alguna es mi lugar favorito del planeta, o si es la referencia a Marcel Duchamp, o el atardecer neoyorquino. Creo que es la manera en la que O'Hara hace lo mismo que los Beatles con "I wanna hold your hand": reducir un universo de profundidades y sentimientos al placer sencillo de compartir una Coca Cola con la persona que quieres -la experiencia maravillosa que no quiere dejar pasar.

HAVING A COKE WITH YOU is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona. Partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier San Sebastian, partly because my love for you, partly because your love for yoghurt, partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches, partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary.

It is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still, as solemn, as unpleasantly definitive as statuary, when right in front of it, in the warm New York 4 o' clock light, we are drifting back and forth between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles.

And the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint. You suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them. I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world. Except possibly for the Polish Rider, occasionally, and anyway it's in the Frick, which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time. And the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism. Just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me. And what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank, or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully as the horse?

It seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience, which is not going to be wasted on me. Which is why I am telling you about it.