putting on the ريتز & JAX

it had been a palace.

A family were having a Halloween party as we entered, the best costume, a redhead dressed in a realistic pumpkin. Which brings to mind an episode not photographed.

The opportunity arose to visit Riyadh's Saudi German Hospital for some routine bloodtests, an establishment which proudly advertises itself as a member of the Mayo Clinic nework. It's close by. . . and reports from other members of Jo's crew had been good, so we did a dummy run one weekend. Inconclusive. Nobody seemed to be around.

Then, for real. All went as expected, a consultation required, details revised, not too shabbily, the place clean and thankfully without muzak of any kind. After the Saudi German doctor, which sounds exactly as he appeared, an over-serious medical zealot who resented any interruption, a docsplainer. His head overlarge, his hands oversmall, he directed us to the next station and the next after that was on another floor, the phlebotomy department. It shared the floor with the psychiatric clinic. There we waited, having been issued a number. . . a long long time.

The bloods were done. Anxious to leave, we made for the door, but not before down the hallway a slim tall figure approached us. To say he approached is not quite accurate. He passed through the group of those waiting for attention and those, like us, making for the lifts. It was Mickey Mouse.

The one and only Mickey Mouse, the classic almost debonair Mickey, he moved most naturally in this environment; and that nobody paid no notice led me to believe I may have hallucinated him. Then, it didn't seem right to take his picture, ask for a selfie. It was clear that he was meant to be there, that he was a part of the Saudi German Hospital, but what part?

Was he a patient? or a doctor? or a treat for psychiatric patients? who might not have needed attention before seeing him but would—he might as well have been a giant white rabbit—soon after.

Officials, accused of corruption over Riyadh Metro, have been detained . . . possibly here, at the Ritz-Carlton . . . perhaps they take their coffees and nonalcoholic cocktails in the courtyard?

Perhaps they must wear costumes too.

music break, had thought of Taco, but this version has the horn section:

and took off to JAX District, home of SAMOCA (Saudi Arabian Museum of Contemporary Art). . . searchlights fanned out announcing something going on . . . was an exhib, there's a special word I'm trying to capture, it mixes together exhibition and exposition. . . Australia has fireworks; KSA likes lights, Speer-like cathedrals, to the extent, which we will come to, that there is an annual festival of lights called نور الرياض, Noor Riyadh.

Featured at the expob, expib, exhip, exhop (note, 'p' and 'b' take the same symbol in Arabic, ب), we were told at the entrypoint, policed as is the way by young North African men, their English, being put in the way of it by crowd control, usually very good, some stars, male pop stars, would be performing, and this explained the predominance of young women among those arriving, as we had, early. Early or not, tickets were sold out, but perhaps, since we could buy the tickets online, we'd like to come back tomorrow?

ATHR Gallery presented Matter and Memory, which couldn't be more apposite considering I'm reading Bergson daily. The top picture is one from there, this time, an exhibition, of works, mainly textile, the little figures and perforated receptacles (camel?) leather, by Zahrah Alghamdi.

at SAMOCA was a group show combining works by Brazilian and Saudi artists, an interesting combination, you might say; I had read a South American artist explain the kinship felt by artists there with the experience of those from Saudi Arabia, a mysterious thing. Then, it could be that it has to do with the exposure of the so-called Art World, that artists from both countries are late entries and sometimes uninvited guests. The playfulness of what was presented here appealed to us.

it might be more appropriate to say that the Saudis are unexpected hosts. As a gallerist demonstrates the interactive work of a Brazilian artist.

high-def images of kids playing first-person shooter games

these are hosts really, I suppose, to the images entering them. . .

word-codes tied to symbolic images made changes in the landscape. . . mother was one. . . see the falling egg?

JAX pretty happening. Studios. An wood-working studio with programmable arm which doubled as a cafe. Hope the metro goes there soon.