Here’s an interesting thing you’ll learn as you near retirement age: You begin to voice your opinion on things you wouldn’t dream of bringing up years earlier in case it stirred controversy. Once you reach the point where your opinion isn’t likely to impact your career, you feel the freedom that comes with being able to mouth off at will (not that it really took retirement age for me to mouth off). So here I go.
Several years ago, I found myself in Chicago with some fellow employees and, although most of the rest were interested in clubbing and sleeping late, two of us were interested in taking in the Art Institute of Chicago. It was fabulous and we spent several hours perusing the different exhibitions, even tagging on to the back of a tour group to hear the guide explain all the hidden messages one Impressionist painter incorporated into his work.
But then we wandered off and eventually saw a sign indicating the entrance to the modern art wing of the museum. She indicated modern art was not her favorite and I readily agreed. She went on to say that the thing that irritated her the most was when someone included something like a big red dot in the middle of a canvas and called it art. We both laughed because, really? (and here’s me mouthing off at last) if it looks like something I could do, then it’s not art, because although I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, I’m pretty sure I could manage to get a colored circle on a canvas or sling a bunch of paint and when it looked colorful and pretty, declare it a masterpiece.
So, yes, you guessed it. We walked in to discover a giant red dot on a canvas. It was a laughable moment. Nevertheless, I am left trying to imagine an art connoisseur staring fixedly at the painting, taking in the bold use of color, the brush strokes, the nuance and declaring it a masterpiece worthy of exhibition in a museum.
Ok, I clearly don’t understand what makes modern art art. To me, it’s art if it’s something I can identify and something I couldn’t achieve in a million years of classes or practice. Something like this –
– something where even I, the novice, can see the bold use of color, the brush strokes, the attention to the smallest details, the beauty of the facial features, the tranquility of the scene, the snapshot of an era.
You can try to get me to understand what makes something qualify as “art,” or you can sigh, shake your head and leave me to enjoy the Impressionists, thank you. Ah, the joys of retirement age and no filter.