Les Oiseaux de Céleste Boursier-Mougenot

Has anyone noticed the bizarre trend in American suburbs of men and women jogging, with headphones, while pushing their children's strollers?  Even with the victory of the 8 hour day, people still have to tarry with commuting, marriage and personal fitness in their ongoing quest for leisure time.  What we witness in these scenes of provincial distress is the attempt to collapse the responsibilities of the nuclear family with the joys of solitude.  But why are we striving for such physical longevity?  Is it to work longer, have more children, and therefore perpetually forfeit our basic human need for reverie?  How much more we would see, hear and know were the stroller to vanish, the headphones malfunction, and our jog slacken into a stroll--a stroll worthy of Kant, Rousseau, Baudelaire, where we could again hear the natural music of the world around us.  Leaves rustling in the breeze.  Rippling water whose surface refracts the sun.  The laughter of children like a thin muslin wrapped around the landscape.  The interconnectivity of things as opposed to the fragmentation of the stereo headset.

One thing we certainly miss in our furious attempt to consolidate work, family and individualized entertainment is the year-long singing of birds.  Chirping, trilling, tweeting, peeping, wings beating, bills snapping.  Thankfully, with the aid of artist Céleste Boursier-Mougenot, the birds are getting louder.  They don't take betrayal lightly and they want to be heard.  As one of the most adaptive classes, they're determined to produce bird calls for the machine age.

Comments

[reality]

Bill Hicks said it best with his 'non smokers die every day' bit. One thing that has crept in my consciousness lately is what some people say about their long long lives. "I'm just glad to be here another day....", etc..
That's nice for you to say, but if you are here and you do not do some good every single day, you are just wasting my air.

[jim knox]

Second yr sentiments. Your intro reminds me of Carson McCullers essay, Loneliness: an American Malady; also, that the word 'apartment' seemingly originates in US of A. Anyways: I'm over to London for the Ennio Morricone concert real soon, & am keen to check this show. Best to you, look forward to reading more of your posts.

[Stokie Dunk]

This English pedestrian often reflects on Kant's Categorical Imperative whilst negotiating dog mess and murkiness on his daily walk to work.

[Ivy]

BIRDS ROCK!

[Jeffersonic]

That's a beautiful, pure artwork that I haven't grown tired of after repeated replays.

[Peter O]

Yes yes yes.
One bobolink song was enough to make a birdsong enthusiast out of me.

[Johnny8]

Beats most recent "experimental" acts I've seen lately. No hour long lectures on the importance of Satie or Moondog. And they won't berate you for not recognizing their genius either.

[warm milk]

reminds me of my time with the Idler's Companion

It was foggy last morning home at parents' in the suburb around 4AM. And I took a stroll. For its own sake (I have been watching many Antonioni movies and it has had its effect). I guess I stayed out too long, the dog walkers and spandex leg-weight power walkers and windbreaker joggers showed up. I feel like a rebel when I cross the empty paths and/or glances with a dog walker: yeah, that's right, no dog, I'm not even exercising or heading anywhere.