July 10, 2009. That gold part of the afternoon. Haven't written. Yesterday went to Brisbane and saw the American Impressionist and Realism painting exhibition. It was good but not as exciting as the exhibition of Pablo Picasso's personal collection. I came away from that one deeply impressed with both the variety and talent. There was one painting, by a spaniard whose name I've forgotten. It was sort of an obscene painting in that it was made up of penises, testicles and vaginas (I think the female bits were there) yet the painting's design had so much energy. It almost didn't matter what the subject was as the pattern and detail was so extraordinary. I tried to find his work on the net but couldn't. Nor was it listed in the blurb we got from the gallery. Anyway, the memory stays with me.
Yesterdays exhibition didin't 'blow my hair back' as much. Well, not really at all. Arrogant thing to say for I certainly can't paint like Homer or Whistler or Cassatt but save for the full length portraits and one painting by an australian painter (again whose name escapes me) called Moonrise I wasn't that impressed. Perhaps because they were of a type I was familiar with. The impressionists and the new realists are well trodden territory. So is Picasso and cubism come to think of it. But there was so much variety there; startling things. I don't understand the attraction of cubism, perhaps because it is so familiar now. I suspect at the time it was because it was an entirely new way of seeing objects. Beyond that, Picasso's tastes were eclectic. And electric.
I went down with K and C and C's parents visiting from Ireland. Took 2 cars as C and her parents went home while K and I explored the West End. A bit disappointing as it was full of ethnic restaurants and not much else. I did find a really great second hand bookstore that I could've spent hours and lots of $$ in but as we had to keep moving I contented myself with one book, Perfect Madness by Donna Lee Gorrell, a woman's journey to enlightenment. She 'wanted growth without change, wisdom without experience, security without sacrifice and life without death'. Intriguing enough for me to buy it.
For don't we all want that? I know I do. Enlightenment like an add-on so that I don't really have to change. Despite the bumps and lumps in this egocentric self, I am comfortable with the blemishes and fear the unknown. Fear too having to give up bits of myself. Would it be such hard work to let parts of myself go? Like losing excess weight, things that darken my spirit and weigh me down? Why do I cling so to parts of me that no longer work? Safety in the familiar? Like an abused wife who would rather stay with her husband than face the unknown? Like W who stays with her husband, who is not physically abusive, because as she said, 'the devil you know....' So easy to be superior and therefore sad for her but we all do it in some respect or another. So perhaps the book will scare me off or maybe not.
I think I have always feared the unknown. I have always been a little afraid to see what's on the other side of the door, which is why I always say, "who's there?", or look through a window to see who it is before I open the door. Most would say that's just common sense, but I believe it is rooted in common fear.
ReplyDeleteYour comment about not having your hair blown back by some of the masters works made me grin because I have had some of the same experiences. Some of the old masters works are magnificent while others leave me wondering what is wrong with me or what is wrong with others because I think they are just junk and should've been thrown into the reuse bin. You know, that rework pile all artists have? I think they certainly must have been in that pile and when the artists died some numbskull grabbed them out and declared them "of great value" and gullible people bought it. Then again, maybe that's why I never held a job as an art critic. ;)