gallery girl: yayoi kusama at david zwirner (part i)

… but alternatively titled: “How I Chose My Limbs Over Heaven.”

I waited in a queue for about 30 minutes — 45, maybe, but that’s being extremely generous — in the line to see the art-world attraction, Yayoi Kusama’s “Infinity Mirrored Room — The Souls of Millions of Light Years Away” at the David Zwirner Gallery in Chelsea, and promptly gave up after I inched about five feet from where I started.

Two-hundred seventy people stood in that line; do the math and that left me at a 4.5 hour wait.

Sweet naiveté had me cheering myself on the first 10 minutes: Only four hours! It’s not that cold, people are bound to leave. I moved an inch! This is progress! Yes! Eleven minutes in and I was silently berating myself for not making a Starbucks stop for a hot latte. Caffeine would have been the perfect antidote to the onset of hypothermia, right? At the very least a hot cup of anything could have prevented frostbite. Thirteen minutes and I was sending pity Snapchats so others could experience my pain vicariously. (I regretted that the moment I removed my right glove. Damn touch screens.)

Thirty — maybe 45 — minutes later, I adamantly said no more! and proceeded to march inside the exhibit. Not out of indignation or impatience, but because I was thoroughly convinced my feet had turned into blocks of ice at this point. There was no other way to move them except to lift and stomp. Lift, stomp, repeat. It was sweet when the boys across from me (the line queued in one of those annoyingly deceptive snakes up and down the block) encouraged me to keep on keeping on, that it was worth it, that as soon as they were stamped and ushered in they’d offer me not one, but all three of their coats so I could survive the brutal cold. Sweet was, well, sweet, and there comes a point when sweet words do little. I made a decision in that moment, one that probably had the 50 or so stragglers behind me silently whooping with joy. Just you wait, I thought to myself before excusing myself out of the queue. Just you wait.

Right then and there, I had chosen my limbs over Heaven.

It was freezing, in my defense. Below freezing actually, if we’re counting tabs here: it was barely 28 degrees and snowing — none of that pretty, light flurry mind you — with increasing strength by the minute, and thus of no fault of my winter coat. That kind of cold has a funny thing of sending one into absolute delirium. Instead of having my body shut off and convince me that all is well! through gritted teeth, my body shut down and gave me an ultimatum: it was either frostbite or art. (Also to be said through gritted teeth.)

So, in the name of sanity and warmth, I chose my damn limbs. I don’t regret missing out despite the hype surrounding the “Infinity Room” (although 80% of me is pressed to say it’s more so a fascination with discovering the perfect #selfie than it is about the art — more on that in Part II to come!). I was happy with getting a sneak peek when Fox News was filing their camera crew in.

But enough about my frozen body parts!

I’ll be honest: Kusama’s aesthetic isn’t one I gravitate towards, I’m intrigued more by her earlier work. Even so, she’s worth reading about. Accredited as a direct influence on Andy Warhol and Yoko Ono (no surprise there) and known for her costume-wig-loving, oversized-polka-dot-kaftan-wearing, and bright-lipstick-swiping persona, Kusama has always been an artist on on the edge — and the pulse.

Her exhibitions are always phenomenal from what I have read in the past. A mixed bag, but a visit worth the time (and wait) given the unexpected range. From paintings to her famed infinity rooms, from enormous installations of vinyl polka-dot structures to collections of reflective balls, Kusama’s vision is consistent and encourages participation (rather than mere observation) regardless of medium. It begs for complete immersion, you can’t help but be drawn into Kusama’s brightly colored, polka-dotted world: it’s pretty different, pretty confusing, and pretty incredible all at once.

“I Who Have Arrived in Heaven” was the one of the three Kusama exhibits I managed to explore. I won’t, nor will I even try to, interpret her art. Simply said, it was different. Amusing, but tinged with dark humor nonetheless: