Anxious Landscapes

Months since my last Manhattan footsteps, contemplating the after-college depression-era job market, I read an article on "How the City Hurts Your Brain." The pace of urban life not only tends to put people in foul moods but also impairs a person's memory and ability to focus. Jonah Lehrer's article touches on a phenomenon that I experienced while living in Manhattan: "A city is so overstuffed with stimuli that we need to constantly redirect our attention so that we aren't distracted by irrelevant things." In the country there is no drunk male aggressor propositioning girls on the street corner, no subway system packed with people in unreasonably close contact, no shiny illuminated store windows luring passerby to buy luxury goods. With all the energy it takes to avert one's eyes, there is little left to pay close attention to all the lovely things in one's life: the good book, the face of the new lover, the beautiful film.

To alleviate the frenzied plight of the urban brain, scientists suggest that even a simple view of a tree outside one's window, or in a picture frame, can make a difference. A more major shift away from skyscrapers, density, and underground transit appeals to me. Perhaps I will move to Miami, take in some sun, and live with ficus trees and a cat. It will be a sort of retirement at age twenty-two.

In light of the natural world's benefits to the brain, the Tara Donovan exhibition at the ICA in Boston transforms everyday objects into whimsical landscapes that possess the gradual mutability of a wave. The above photo is of a man standing in front of a transparent wall of vinyl. It reminds me of the sand art toy at my grandmother's house on the beach.