Tea: Stomach Soother
Music: Blue Oyster Cult, "Godzilla"
Time: Night.
Keeping it short. Late, and I'm going to watch a cheesy monster movie with my son.
I was at the Review Studios Group Exhibition tonight, watching a couple of older guys (no wisecracks about me being an older guy, please) react to James Woodfill's Approximate Object, Quasi Effect.
(No, I'm not going to describe it to you in full detail. I'll just say that it spins, it squeaks, and it's made of wood, steel, motors and hardware, plaster gauze, acrylic media and gesso. You want more, either call me or go see it yourself.)
Anyway, it was clear that these two Did Not Approve. I didn't hear the entire conversation, but I heard all needed at the end: " ... and they call it 'art.'"
Ah, yes ... the mysterious "They." You know, the same ones who say things. Apparently, They are now in charge of determining what's art and what's not.
Granted, Woodfill's work isn't all that accessible to everyone at first look. When I reviewed his Relative Field (which is still up, by the way), it took me more than one visit to find a hook.
"I don't get it" is understandable. "I don't get it, but I'm going to give it another look" is commendable. "I don't get it, so it isn't art" is laughable.
That's what They say, anyway ...
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It makes me wonder, though, at what I unknowingly laugh simply because I do not understand it? What barriers do I let ignorance erect in my life?
Thank you for giving me occasion to consider these things. They must -- for me they must -- be evaluated and reevaluated and cannot be left to reign unchecked.
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