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| The Water Garden at the Harn Museum of Art |
On our last trip to Gainesville to visit the college kids,
they wanted to take us to a couple of the museums because they knew we enjoyed
that type of stuff. And it’s true. Gardens, museums, art galleries, I enjoy
walking through them and pretending I know what I’m looking at. They wanted me to take an Art Appreciation
class one time, but I don’t think you need to take a class to appreciate art,
just to understand why some people call certain things art to begin with and
not others. I exasperated our children’s
friend, Amanda, the most, because she was trying hard to get me to understand
what I was looking at.
“It’s a representation of man’s anguish in a world that
progresses past the point of comprehension in industrialized America and the
depression that sets in and envelopes the soul.”
I stared at her. “It
looks like a child built a ranch with his wooden blocks and his father painted
it.”
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| I get this! |
She wasn’t going to give up, however. We stepped in front of another bright
colorful display. “Now, see, this artist
was using color to show the various stages of rage and disgruntlement in
society of the inability to do anything to stop the momentum of a downward
spiral toward destruction.”
I looked at her. I
looked at the painting. I looked back at
her. “It looks like he spilt his paint
and hung it on a wall.”
She growled at me and walked away.
I can’t help it. Some
art, I just do not understand. Call me
simple or uneducated, but I am not into the abstract. I have simple tastes. Show me some scenery or some animals or water
scenes, perhaps some mystical creatures, something I can gaze at and understand
without thinking too hard. I don’t want
to have to sit and study a painting for hours just to walk away and think, Man was that artist pissed off when he did
that or what.
Art is in the eye of the beholder, just as beauty is. You may look at something and fall madly in
love with it while I wonder why that particular piece is in a museum and my
earlier childhood renditions of trees never survived past the
refrigerator. I’m sure these people are
quite talented and well worth the extortionist price tag that dangles from
it. I’m not trying to take away from
their gift of making distorted shapes and neon colors earn them a living. Furthermore, I am sure it is art; it’s just
not my idea of art. And that’s all right. Not all of us are meant to enjoy the same
things in this life. That’s proven every
time Zac plays what he calls music in his bedroom. It’s not my taste, but it is his. That is what makes this world great, the
diversity of lifestyles and talents and those who enjoy them. I tip my hat to all of them and apologize to
Amanda for frustrating her so much at the museum.
Well, not really, that was part of the fun of the day and
she knows it. She does have a good eye,
however. She chose to be friends with
us, after all.
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Other posts you might enjoy ~ Barhopping with the Kids
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