What Now

I don't understand art.

OK, that's probably the last thing I need to admit after studying it in one form or another the past 4 years, but I'm convinced it's true.

Oh, I've learned how to BS fairly convincingly about negative space and use of color, and lighting and all of that happy trash, but I'm going to be honest. A lot of this stuff means nada to me.

I came upon this realization during art shows for two of my classmates. Seniors who are studio art majors who don't study graphic design are required to have a gallery showing in the little renovated chapel on our campus. I've been getting the invitations almost every two weeks since I started school. Some of the people I know, but most of them I don't. I'll be honest, I don't normally go to these things because I haven't had time or I forget about them, but very recently I was straight out asked if I was going by the girl who's art was on display. What could I say? I had some time before going back to work, and I didn't think it would be polite to tell her I didn't want to, so I went.

First off, let me say, the girl is a very talented painter. Her pictures were very well done and she really has a style of her own that could probably make her a celebrated artist someday. Next, let me say, the paintings were almost all nudes of herself. Nudes of herself before, during and after her pregnancy. NUDES! OF! HER! My classmate! My classmate who I sit across from twice a week! I couldn't even run screaming or stabbing my eyes out because that would have been rude! There was nothing I could do but make the round of the gallery, leave a comment in her book, and leave as quickly as possible.

Look, I've gotten over my initial freaking-out over seeing naked people in art. In fact, sometimes I'll be looking at a book of photographs or drawings of nudes and it takes me a few minutes to realize that I'm even looking at a naked person unless someone else mentions it. However, the nudes in the books or whatever are not people who I have to interact with on a fairly regular basis. I like to know people better before I see them naked. It's just the way I roll.

OK, same setting, two weeks later. The same girl asked if I was going to see the new gallery exhibit, which happened to belong to her boyfriend or husband...don't know which because she just said that he was the father of her son. Anywho, once again, I had no reason to say no, so went. Thankfully, there were no nudes or semi-nudes of this guy who I've had a couple of classes with. In fact, I couldn't tell you upon pain of death what the hell that guy had painted. The paintings all had titles, of course, but the images looked like he had painted something on the canvas and then got tired of it and rubbed his hands through it. All 8 canvases were a mixture of the same three colors in the same smudged way. I don't think I'm explaining this right. Let me help you out. You remember when you were a kid and someone gave you a pot of finger paint? You plopped out a clump of paint and smeared it onto your paper until you had a layer of one color? Then you ran your fingers through it and scraped the paint away to make pictures? That is what it was like. There were also bronze sculptures of heads that looked partially eaten and a giant baby bottle nipple made of wood. Oh, and some kind of tangle of ropes in the center of the room with wooden arms hanging in the middle. Wei-rd.

Maybe I'm just not smart or cultured enough to get this stuff, I don't know. If I wasn't so convinced that everyone else who sees this stuff also BS's about negative space and stuff, I'd probably think that my whole college experience was a waste.