Free Art
On Saturday, I had the unique pleasure of becoming a piece of performance art.
At the Columbia Museum of Art, a ceramics grad student was completing his thesis by giving away 400 individual pieces of art for less than a song.
Truth be told, although I had read about the giveaway earlier in the week, I had forgotten about the project. But since I knew Rocky, I stopped by the museum on my way home from work.
Joining a line of approximately 100 other art afficianados, junkies, undergrads, and freeloaders who couldn't resist a good deal, I was sure that most of the art was gone, that I wouldn't get a piece, but also that the experience was worth the investment of my patience. And, hell, I had nothing pending on my busy social calendar.
Engaging in the piece -- an act of simple will and patience, no more complicated than standing in line -- did bring interesting issues to the mind, however. The pacing of the piece was slow; three pieces were displayed on pedestals, and a new piece (or pieces) were added after each visitor's selection. This gave me plenty of time to ponder how I would make the selection and, by extension, how I personally respond to art.
This is an issue I have been dealing with for sometime already. In looking at art over the past few years, I have been trying to decode my own reactions to pieces. What aesthetic sensibilities do I respond to? What is the most creative/interesting medium? Is a painting by Monet any better than the architecture of Frank Gehry?
Increasingly, I have become aligned with the visceral school of thought. "Go with your first instinct" is a good rule to follow, but it has some drawbacks. For instance, shocking art without depth seems to be more valuable than it truly is. Moreover, pieces through which the artist's intentions are miscommunicated are diminished, even though the intention is valid and sincere.
So when my turn came, my chance to exercise theory, I found that it was useless. My gut reaction took over and lead me nowhere. Among the three pieces, I was drawn to the vase on the left -- a craggy glazed one, approximately eighteen inches tall. In the middle was a simple black piece, with glaze that had run at some point and left an interesting black-on-black streaking pattern. On the right was a green vase, also about eighteen inches tall, dimpled and very shiny.
So, on impulse, I grabbed the last one.
That's it. This was not a visceral aesthetic reaction -- this was the artistic equivalent of Blind Man's Bluff. When the chips fell, all the methodology went right out the window, and I panicked.
How embarrassing.
At the Columbia Museum of Art, a ceramics grad student was completing his thesis by giving away 400 individual pieces of art for less than a song.
Truth be told, although I had read about the giveaway earlier in the week, I had forgotten about the project. But since I knew Rocky, I stopped by the museum on my way home from work.
Joining a line of approximately 100 other art afficianados, junkies, undergrads, and freeloaders who couldn't resist a good deal, I was sure that most of the art was gone, that I wouldn't get a piece, but also that the experience was worth the investment of my patience. And, hell, I had nothing pending on my busy social calendar.
Engaging in the piece -- an act of simple will and patience, no more complicated than standing in line -- did bring interesting issues to the mind, however. The pacing of the piece was slow; three pieces were displayed on pedestals, and a new piece (or pieces) were added after each visitor's selection. This gave me plenty of time to ponder how I would make the selection and, by extension, how I personally respond to art.
This is an issue I have been dealing with for sometime already. In looking at art over the past few years, I have been trying to decode my own reactions to pieces. What aesthetic sensibilities do I respond to? What is the most creative/interesting medium? Is a painting by Monet any better than the architecture of Frank Gehry?
Increasingly, I have become aligned with the visceral school of thought. "Go with your first instinct" is a good rule to follow, but it has some drawbacks. For instance, shocking art without depth seems to be more valuable than it truly is. Moreover, pieces through which the artist's intentions are miscommunicated are diminished, even though the intention is valid and sincere.
So when my turn came, my chance to exercise theory, I found that it was useless. My gut reaction took over and lead me nowhere. Among the three pieces, I was drawn to the vase on the left -- a craggy glazed one, approximately eighteen inches tall. In the middle was a simple black piece, with glaze that had run at some point and left an interesting black-on-black streaking pattern. On the right was a green vase, also about eighteen inches tall, dimpled and very shiny.
So, on impulse, I grabbed the last one.
That's it. This was not a visceral aesthetic reaction -- this was the artistic equivalent of Blind Man's Bluff. When the chips fell, all the methodology went right out the window, and I panicked.
How embarrassing.
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