So, for my 29th Birthday I got up early and drove out Richmond to see the Virginia Fine Arts Museum's exhibition of Pablo Picasso works from the Musee Picasso (which is currently undergoing renovation). I consider it my good fortune to have been to two major Picasso exhibitions: this one at the VMFA and the truly once in a lifetime Matisse/Picasso exhibit at the MOMA in Queens, which ironically enough I also attended around my birthday in 2003. The VMFA exhibit was worth seeing, though I must confess I've decided I am more of Matisse man; I find his work way more accessible and, though certainly sensual, less jarringly erotic.
I probably would have enjoyed it more if there had been less people around. The gallery was packed, and it was distracting to hear people trying to figure out what the hell Picasso was trying to do, trying to piece together when the Spanish Civil War was (come on people, it's in the program!), and hear old southern ladies tsk-tsking about all the nudes rendered in Picasso's many different artistic styles on canvas and in sculpture. I don't know what people expected to see; this is a Picasso exhibition, after all.
It was a great relief to leave the exhibit and walk into the American Art gallery, which was completely quiet. But the maddening crowd soon followed, and I was treated to caustic commentaries on some fine Dutch works, outrage at how all the medieval religious paintings did not portray people in correct biblical era clothing, and the indifference of a gaggle of teen age girls to everything they saw around them.
I am no artist (blogging doesn't count, in my eyes), but I do take art seriously. The emotions that strike when you find yourself resonating with a particular work can open a window into the soul where, if you wish to, you may learn something about yourself. But then again, if art opens a window into the soul (or the self, if you prefer), then maybe the fact that I take it so seriously and have little patience for the snobbishly perceived banality of others shows that, in the 29th year of my life, I have begun to take myself too seriously once again. Nothing proves that more than the fact that, for my birthday, I elected to go to a culturally enriching exhibit. And that, perhaps, just shows how times have changed, how getting older altered has altered my priorities.
For my 9th birthday all I was really interested in was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I did get all four: Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo (I wonder if that planted the seed for my interest in art??). Michelangelo had kickboxing action so powerful he could break through a stack of plastic oil barrels. KAPOW! For the 19th birthday all I was really interested in was girls, and I pursued one into the local honkey tonk where I stepped on everyone's cowboy booted toes (including the young woman's honkey tonk hubby) and ended up getting kicked in the balls, deservedly.
But hey, times change. Ages ago I used to say that Krispy Kreme had better donuts than Dunkin Donuts by a very good margin. I proved this to myself by conducting a taste test at the competing establishments in Penn Station. Now, I would say that I would rather go to Dunkin Donuts, not because they have better donuts, but because they have better coffee. Way better coffee. The important thing here is the fact that I now view coffee as being more important than donuts. I am now locked in on a long, gradual trajectory where one day sleep will be more important than sex and, eventually, a peaceful death will perhaps be preferable to a life where mind and body no longer adequately function.
And where that came from I don't know. Is it the lateness of the hour (which, again, if 12:14 is late, then...), or the (one) beer that I have downed? Perhaps, instead of spending the time piecing it together, it would be best to end this extremely personal entry and go to bed, so that I might be greeted with the happy possibilities of a shining morning sun and a new day.
Okay, a morning-after post script:
ReplyDelete1. I know that 29 IS NOT OLD. It's rather young, actually. However, this is the first year that I have noticed that I am older than many of the types of people I formerly looked up to (for example, many soccer players and many, many members of our military forces). Its been that way for a couple of years, but nevertheless, this is the first year where that idea really hit home.
2. This note sounds dour. But I think its worth thinking about the trajectory of one's life and the inevitability that one will, one day, lose it (and you may lose it before you have really lost it...). It's a little depressing to be confronted with that inevitability, but all in all I think its helpful. It may lead one to savor life more, to take time to look at the paintings, and feel comfortable enough to make a joke at Rembrandt's expense(though how one could ever make a joke about a Rembrandt I will still never know...).