Monday, December 15, 2008

Call Me a Boor, a Rube…..

 …. a heathen, an uncultured slob…. But I just don’t “get” modern art.

Last weekend we went to see the Victorian Christmas display at Fountain Elms in Utica. Fountain Elms is an 1800’s Italianate house that was owned by the Munson/Williams/Proctor family. They were quite wealthy and, as was the fashion of the times, avid art collectors. When the last of the family passed on, the art collection was made public. Eventually, it was put in it’s current home – the Munson Williams Proctor Institute, next door to Fountain Elms. (I call it “The Munstitute” for short). 

Since we were right there – the buildings are literally connected by a covered walkway – we took a stroll through the art museum.

I try to be as open minded as I can about things, particularly in matters of taste. I know that what one person finds interesting or appealing, another may not. I have also experienced numerous instances where either my tastes have changed or I learned to appreciate something that at first blush didn’t interest me.

  Over the years, my definition of “art”  - be it sculpture, painting, photography, graphic arts, music – has broadened to: “something that makes you feel something and/or something that makes you think”. If it fits that criteria, no matter what the form, it’s “art”.  If it has something to say (good or bad), then it’s art. (If it doesn’t have anything to say, then why is it wasting my time?) I like having my preconceived notions challenged, too.

  Most of the things I saw in that museum did indeed make me think – they made me think: “What the hell is this and why in God’s name would they pay so much money for it?”

To be sure, there were a few pieces that at least made me think. There was a photo of a flowerpot with some grass growing in it. The flowerpot was on its side, but the grass was growing straight up - a commentary on the resiliency of nature. Got it. Definitely fits my definition of art.  There was also a painting done in a series of three panels. The first showed two adults arguing, the second showed the man putting his hat on and heading out the door as a plate of food hit the wall next to the door. The third showed the woman cleaning it up, with a very hurt and angry expression. In each of these, a young boy sort of did the duck and cover bit. Ugly? You bet, but it conveyed emotion and made me feel something. Art? Check.

The bulk of them left me cold. There wasn’t even any hint of appreciation for the skill of the artists. I’m sorry, but throwing paint at a canvas doesn’t imply any degree of skill. If a three year old throws paint, he gets his ass chewed – if an adult does it, it’s “art”?

Instead of keeping non-working appliances and cars on blocks in your yard, and risk running afoul of the zoning folks, try keeping a bunch of rusty scrap metal instead. Just weld it together, name it “ Macular Degeneration #2 “ and call it “sculpture”.

  Of course, I’m the same guy who got thrown out of high school art class a lot. When the teacher was going on and on about how the artists who throw the brush at the canvas spent so much time figuring out where they want each color, I had the audacity to ask: 

Well what happens if he doesn’t throw straight? What happens if he wants yellow over here and he misses and it hits over here”? 

Get out……”. 

 (off I go - again).

Once a Philistine, always a Philistine, I guess. 

Fortunately, no one at the Munstitute made me go sit in the hall.