Where is the Mystery?

In this era of transparency, what would happen if we didn't pull back the curtain and see that the Wizard was just a man?

In this past week's Sunday Times magazine  http://nyti.ms/1Pmxdy4  writer Jenna Wortham highlights visual artist Madelyn Beckles and other self-promoters of her ilk as they pull back the curtain on their internet searches revealing the dark data of who they really are when no one is looking. Is this a new concept? Teenage boys have been doing things when they thought no one was looking for centuries. And there are lots and lots of people who still do.

It's called Privacy. 

The same way we don't say every thought that comes to mind, most of us relish the fact that we have our own silent Walter Mitty-like fantasies that get us through the slog of the day. 

I find this 'share all conceit' off-putting to the say the least and probably bordering on dangerous narcissistic behavior. But the curtain of anonymity allows for all to be revealed without really revealing it all. Everyone is aware that 'reality TV' is no more real than a scripted show, and UnReal, Lifetime's brilliant, insider skewering of reality TV blazingly illuminated that.

But to all of these revealers I have one thought: Who cares? Apparently lots of people do, so I guess I'm in the minority on that because these screen shots of their haphazard and seemingly random searches will be displayed in a Toronto gallery and have been bound into an art book entitled "Babe."

The fascination here, other than the obvious one being that these internet searchers love themselves a bit too much is the dichotomy of what we project to the world and the down and dirty version of who we really are. We may think of ourselves as designer clothing and pearls, but our internet searches reveals bustiers and silk handcuffs is who we really are.

Again, sorry if I'm repeating myself but Who Cares? In the twitter-sphere of celebrity catfights and social admonishments by Lena Dunham and other peolpe with large numbers of followers weighing in on everything political or social, the whiny self-absorbed generation of relentless self-promotion is gauche and exhausting.

For those who think every one of their thoughts is worth sharing because they subsisted on reality TV growing up, I say stop...I beg of you, just stop. Of course it's childlike to wish for the naive days of believing in the tooth fairy but how about allowing for that natural process of discovery...that air of mystery? 

Isn't the most thrilling part of meeting someone new discovering the layers and facets of all of them? How interesting would it be if we all just handed each other screenshots of our internet searches and said Here's All of Me...um, yuck. 

Why don't we think that some things can be special or scared? Aren't we allowed to hold something dear? The best part about a crush is the secret of it...the delicious knowledge that the unreality of it will be way better than the actualization of it.

The best movie stars of yore...Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth...promised boundless possibilities with the raise of an eyebrow, a sway of a hip...call me old fashioned, but allow me a shred of my imagination to take me through the grimy subway rides and reality of life....sometimes the best way to get through a tough day is imagining you're someone else doing something completely different. The Wizard did more good before the curtain was pulled back, staying in the background as he allowed us to discover ourselves.

So please, indulge in your fantasies out of the glare of the public eye, and do us all a favor, and don't tell anyone about it.

Please!

The Art of Exhibitionism

"Did you hear about the woman who gave birth in an art gallery?" my daughter asked. "Can you imagine that? She acts as if this has never been done before, I mean, Queens have been giving birth in front of an audience for hundreds of years to ensure that no one switched the heir with another baby."
 "Well, at least that's a valid reason for having an audience," I said. Having given birth four times, I didn't even want to be there, much less expect anyone besides my husband and the paid medical staff of the hospital to show up.


But this kind of exhibitionism shouldn't take anyone by surprise, it's simply another way that we as a society  have deteriorated. I'm sure there are many who disagree with me. After all, the gallery gave this woman a generous amount of space that she converted into a lovely birthing room. She was present in the weeks before the birth chatting it up with attendees and discussing the beauty of birth as a natural process. About twenty onlookers attended the live event, and I'm willing to bet that none of them had ever given birth.


In the era of reality TV, Youtube and tweets it seems as if the fifteen minutes of fame Andy Warhol had predicted has turned into something much longer and more ominous. Remember Rebecca Black? 167 million hits on Youtube and a Wikipedia page--we despise her,deride her, but we all  know her. For every celebrity that has earned their status through their hard work, talent and accomplishments, shying away from unwanted paparazzi and press, there are pseudo-celebrities whose only fame is achieved through their self-propelled publicity machine. They live their lives in front of the camera, choosing to live in a manufactured world that exists only if someone else is watching. If a tree falls in the forest...


A home should be a sanctuary, a place where a family member can go at the end of the day and feel comfort. It should be a place of love and support, a place where the boss or the teacher or the co-worker can't reach inside of you. Imagine if it isn't that. How could every move be measured and affected in order to get optimal reactions from total strangers--viewers who have earned the right to comment on someone else's family situation We are all aware that there is nothing real about reality TV, not the emotions, or the relationships, but when one sibling is giving some honest, heartfelt advice to another family member and it is viewed as suspect and self-serving, well, that's just sad. I find it equally troubling when an entire family unanimously chooses to live their life out in front of millions of viewers. That's just pathetic.


Years ago when we attended family gatherings, my husband was always ready with his video camera to record all the adorableness of our children and our nieces and nephews. Invariably there were a few kids who loved the attention and a couple who simply didn't feel comfortable with it, choosing to hide under the table or behind a wall. No amount of coaxing could cajole the reticent children into cooperation and in hindsight I have to applaud their ability at three years old to have more sense than people ten times their age.


We are not voyeurs. We have been invited. We are beseeched to watch the train wreck of other people's lives and even if we choose not to, the information is so ubiquitous as to be unavoidable. It screams at us from newspaper headlines and Op-Ed pieces in The New York Times and our nightly news. We as a society are responsible for allowing and applauding this odd behavior. It is revolting and unnerving to think we are on a first name basis with every character who shines a spotlight on themselves, yet very few of us could summon up more than a couple of names of the thirteen awardees of the Nobel Prize that were recently announced.


As a country we used to admire hard work and achievement. Let's try to remember that.