Lavender Mists
Now I’ve never been much of one for much enjoying modern art, especially of the non-objective kind. I like abstraction to a point, since all art is in a sense abstracting from nature or reality – an artifice not the real thing – which is why the name art. But if there’s no reference to it in my experience, then it vaguely pisses me off. No doubt there’s something good about modern art, or it wouldn’t exist – only I get left out of knowing what that is.
And it may be merely my hedonism, but art to me, almost by definition, includes a sense of exhilaration and enjoyment, a feeling – even if reversed somehow – of beauty. So modern art, both the confusing and the ugly kinds, creeps me out.
Maybe I have a fetish for meaning. Must…have…meaning….
One time I got to see, face to face unexpectedly, my favorite painting of all time, Van Gogh’s The Starry Night. The dream of a lifetime, something I never thought would happen, plus it was a suprise. I had no idea that that painting was in MoMA.
When we went there years ago, I was really excited, off to The Big Apple to see not only the greatest artists of our time, but most likely the greatest artists of all time, since these modern guys had all the past to build on…at least that was my theory.
We started on the opposite end of Starry Night (woe to my fate that made me turn right) and worked our way through the galleries. I already knew of course that modern art was generally weird, but had no idea it could be so totally incomprehensible. And I did expect a certain amount of beauty.
Hick hits the bigtime. Duh.
By the time we had wended our long, long, long way through all those galleries, my brain was about the size of a peanut: IQ, 8. Why? I kept asking, both to myself and aloud, as we passed all those leering mysteries. The one that finally did it for me was some penciled French scribbled on a brown paper bag under broken glass, saying, “To be viewed for six hours from a distance of six inches.” Oh, the cad! From intrigued to bemused to baffled to furious, my journey was inexorable, my fate an evil doom. Unfortunately I was sober.
So when I finally stood in person before the opus of my imagination, the painting I had dreamt on and spent so much time looking at in a book: my beloved Starry Night, I projectile vomited. Not actually, but I sure was done. Who cares about this shit? The poor dear girl who accompanied me on that trip kept assuring me that the reason these abominations were in the museum was because it was the first time it had ever been done. That was small consolation for me, in my bereaved and bitter state.
So imagine my shock when I first stood before a Jackson Pollock painting, in the Milwaukee Art Museum, later on. We were skating quickly through the modicum of modernists – having learned my lesson – when we came upon the glorious sight of a Pollock, a huge painting practically vibrating off the wall. Don’t recall which one it was, by name, but it was one of his drippings, kind of like this:
Lavender Mist: 1954, Jackson Pollock
Since I’d only seen his paintings in books, I had always scoffed at Pollock as the squiggles guy or something. But when you stand right in front of one of those giant walls of color, it’s a whole different story. Those paintings are deep, not intellectually but visually. They stand out from the wall like a fat horizontal tone-dance. It’s as if it’s alive in there. – Almost like you can see beyond physicality into the innards of things. Nanoquantumvisiospectravision, freaking amazing. First time I ever saw into the spirit world.
Anyway, point was supposed to be that I saw the movie Pollock last night. Ed Harris was great. Watching him drip-paint, in imitation of the master, was a joy. Made me realize that one of the precious times the genius of a human being lived wholly inside art was when Jackson Pollock dripped in a pure dripping mood, involved in the moment like few people have ever been. Creating something alive.
Yay art!
LWIII
I like
(A suitably modern scaled down minimalist type comment)
Thanks Maria. One of my longer blog posts, hope not too long.
i got to see the real “luncheon of the boating party” with a year 8 school excursion… way back when
only ever saw it in books so i was totally surprised to see that it took up a wall so huge i didn’t know any house that would house it.
they made us move along… shuffle shuffle by. I didn’t have a chance to really sit there all day and just dive into it.
the figures all larger then real people
i knew he painted them one at a time
and we where not allowed to touch it, but i did anyway
thats what they get for not letting me sit there all day
it was a surprise too
the best kinda surprise, the one that stays clear forever and you want it too.
thank you for sharing about Pollock and Starry Night, made me remember
xx azyh
Hey azyh! Thanks for the comment, dearie. Is that the painting by the pointillist guy? I love that. Bet it was amazing in person. Way to touch it! Now when I see a pic of it I can go, oh yeah, that’s the one azyh touched.
xoxo!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luncheon_of_the_Boating_Party
oh it was Renior, not sure if he was dotty, more impressionist
xx azyh
Ah! I like that one. Had no idea it was giant. Thanks!
an amzing painting, just amazing.
talking about it i have formed an idea to go searching it out in the world – i wonder if it is still on display anywhere? It was at our national art gallery on a world tour when I saw it.
i think what shocked me was I couldn’t imagine how he painted it? ladders seemed out of the question to my mind back then…
maybe that was his point in making it so big – to expand our minds as we dine?
xx azyh
No idea where it is in the world now. Hang on… apparently in Washington DC: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Phillips_Collection
Renoir expanded our ways of seeing, if not our minds.
xoxo
Reminds me of the UFO in Spielberg’s Close Encounters, which was a flipped aerial picture of LA, something like this: http://bit.ly/aQvPh7. Same grain.
Hey, it does! I don’t remember that UFO looking like a Pollock, but it does look like that pic of LA. Thanks!