You Know What They Say About Assumptions

Back when I first started art school, I decided that I would only make work of a particular style because that’s what I felt passionate about. I was very critical of art styles that I didn’t prefer. I would say that I had an almost aggressive attitude about its right to exist. I think this originated in my belief that if art wasn’t made out of conscious thinking it was of little value. In other words, I would start with an idea or something beautiful and would create work inspired by the idea or beauty. It had to have some logical A to B line of thinking one could trace from its beginnings. It didn’t have to be representational necessarily but it would come from representational because that’s were we all live, right?
Then I went for a drive with my uncle up the California coast from Malibu to San Francisco. I would like to talk about the amazing experience that was for me in some other blog. So when we got to San Francisco we got a map of the city and he asked me where I would like to go first. I wanted to say to the hat shops that I’d seen in magazines but I knew we weren’t there for that. I wasn’t sure where to start so we wandered around the harbors looking at the boats and food stalls. We got some shrimp cocktail and it was fun. I saw on the map the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and screamed that’s where I wanted to go next.
We hopped a trolley up to the museum. I was starting to get that out-of-body feeling when my world gets too amazing for me to comprehend. We walked up the wide wooden steps entering the galleries. We looked at a lot of crazy stuff the height of which was an exhibit of two tall, narrow walls and a small square floor that had a large stack of colored light bulbs that reached almost to the top of the walls. Try to picture that. My uncle didn’t say a word but I was all over the place with opinion in the negative. It made me think of Joseph Buoys and his chair with a stack of animal fat. “Why is this called high art?” my mind screamed.
Then the last thing we saw was a large room-sized exhibit. It was four walls, a ceiling and a floor constructed of wood about the size of most people’s living rooms. There was only one tiny window about eye level and a small step where one could stand to peep into the window. The outside was painted in black shapes with a yellow background and the inside was painted with yellow shapes on a black background. Or maybe that was vice versa. Anyway, inside there was a mirror directly across from the window so that as you viewed the interior you could see yourself….yourself as part of the whole piece. Wow!
It took a few days and maybe a few months in the long run or maybe it hasn’t ever really stopped, but I was changed. I was greatly affected by what I saw there. I may not have liked some of it; the experience raised me to a new understanding. I was excited. Not only could I relate to other art styles but I could appreciate them for what they were trying to accomplish. What a great experience for me. Do other people have that experience? My education has failed me miserably.