Rafael Alvarez: If we can make it there...

They had not exchanged phone numbers. Only a place and a time for their next encounter. In another town, in another time zone. When they had parted ways in this manner, it had not made any sense for Mono. Why should they turn away from each other without being able to get in contact again at any time after they had spent such a wonderful afternoon, after such an evening he – for sure – would never forget? But as Una had insisted on this manner of parting company, he had not had a choice. On his return flight from Hong Kong he had sufficient time to think about all this, to sadly remember the cheerful meeting, to arrange his thoughts and to interpret the feelings. Only after several days Mono had been able to make heads or tails of it. Una had been travelling alone due to a conscious decision. She had wanted to arrange things which needed to be arranged. Quite contrary to him, she had not expected in secret an encounter, THE encounter, during her travel. Consequently she managed to release again. She even had to do so in order to give the proper sense to her travel. For this reason he could finally put up with it and calm his gnawing worries.
Una was satisfied with the evening. Now – at the end of her travel – finally one with herself. An encounter – well, maybe even THE encounter. And she had gone away with only a place and a time. A triumph over her own inner reflex which had told her to create supposed safety on basis of the numerical order of a phone number. For sure, they would meet again. And it would become a festival. It should happen that way. They had been talking to each other during an evening without really knowing each other. Therefore a fulminant setting for common experiences was required. And a place which could ease her disappointment, should Mono not appear on the scene in time, should her intuition prove to be nothing but an illusion. “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere” – this exactly had to be it. New York! Either the stage for a festival or the setting for the blues.
The date at the Gallery Opening on this evening was not randomly chosen. The evening in Hong Kong had been much thousand words long. Associations had been flying, words had trigged pictures and pictures new words. Like under a spell they had followed each other, while common passions had become evident within short. Art was an elixir of life for both of them. On the other hand, they had already seen too much for being enthusiastic about something just being claimed as “art”. The more thrilling was Mono’s description of a gallery where only illustrations and sculptures would be shown. The perfect place for a blind date which would be far more than just a blind date. Could one call a second encounter a blind date? As on the other hand this second meeting was the first real date, they had left it at it. A very particular atmosphere was already prevailing in the street in front of the gallery. But it was impossible to say whether this was due to the place itself or to the purpose it had been selected for: being the screen for a common picture in intense colours. The question was whether this picture would cope with the sketches of endless projections of the previous days. But prior to this anxiously and longingly expected reply the moment was experienced.
Hipstercrowds, citynoisesmusicvoicestangle, fashionpicturesculptureprojectionsflickering, motionhustlebustlemetropolisdynamic. And then this moment. Heartbeatdiscoverfrighteningmeeting. Una. Mono.
Only at the second place of their second common evening the inebriation created by pictures, words, events, stories slowly arrived at a rhythm which could have been followed by any other person except Una and Mono. By the time they had arrived at the lucullan epicentre of New York. The restaurant was the opening of the month, desired and booked like no other place in the city. How they had managed to pass the queue at the door could not be explained with arguments. It had to be due to their glowing which would have opened all doors to them on this evening. As they were the couple of couples, it was quite natural that this place of all places was theirs. It was just as irrespective as impossible to decide whether the cocktails and the food were really as good as they tasted. The barkeeper, waiters and sommeliers seemed to circle around them, which was probably really like this. During these hours spent in their world there simply was no other possibility.
The city had proved to be the only right place for their encounter. The evening could not fade away at another place as in the Central Park. In some moments kitsch does not feature a category. A horse-drawn carriage is nothing but a horse-drawn carriage and the only suitable vehicle in this moment. So it was – the perfect moment. Trees, silhouettes of houses, flaneurs and cyclists passed them, being the scenery of this evening’s wonder. The beginning of a long common travel.