FourBux

Changing my perspective

I used to be an art snob.

Maybe it was just part of the fresh out of college outlook, the punk who has the underlying feeling that the unwashed masses just couldn’t appreciate art – you simply don’t have the training. How could you possibly know what the artist was trying to convey – this is modern art. You have to be shown what the artist wanted you to see – this isn’t interpretive!

Forget the fact that I used to appreciate art without knowing how the pigments were created, or that I really enjoyed a trip to the museum without being able to recall that Edward Hopper always employed the same bit of red into each of his paintings. At one point, I was able to be moved by a painting or a sculpture just by the nature of what it was – an extension of another person, carried through time and space, captured and shared with me.

I went through a period not so long ago where I thrived on the fact that I could go into a museum and feel superior because I knew facts about the artists and the pieces on display. Back in college, I was no different than the other students – short on cash and time. Working a couple jobs on top of school, the student discount or class trips to the galleries and museums were a huge fix for me – I could escape the daily routine and be escorted into a place that designed to be different, special. Like the sacred space in a cathedral, it was all part of the experience. I drank it up.

After school though, the trip to the galleries changed, becoming more of a societal excursion. “What did I do today? Oh, I went to the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art and spent some time in the new assemblage exhibit. What’s assemblage? It’s tough to explain – you probably wouldn’t get it.” This elitist attitude was probably underscored by the fact that I could afford to go to the museum, buy my coffee from the cart outside, and maybe purchase a memento from the gift shop on my way out. It was a financial experience – I appreciated art because I could afford to.

I was completely missing the point.

Last week, my employer procured tickets to the Rembrandt and the Golden Age of Dutch Art exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum. I jumped at the chance to go. Because this was a free event, open only to our employees, there was a wide range of people in attendance – and it was not your typical art show crowd. For probably the first time, I realized what at least some of the artists were trying to achieve – getting art to the people. Take it off the ceilings of the churches and out of the hands of the wealthy and get it to the people.

There were people at this show who would probably never have the opportunity (whether real or imagined) to see a Rembrandt painting in person, much less a room full of them, as well as much of his students’ work and others from the period. I’m sure the curators and attendants were on their combined last nerves, since the group obviously didn’t know how to behave in a museum; I was asked at one point to maintain a distance of at least six inches from one small piece – I was straining to see the incredible detail. I would be willing to bet that they were looking forward to when their art gallery crowd would be back and the teeming populace would be contained outside the velvet rope, a safe distance from the masterpieces. It’s unfortunate that we’re back to that – experiencing fine art is again a benefit for those with the affluence – it’s not about appreciating the art, it’s about being seen appreciating it.

On our way out, after a cup of coffee and a cookie in the main lobby, we decided to take a quick trip upstairs to look around. My wife instantly became enthralled by the Fashion Design Collection, filled with ball gowns and party dresses from the last century, vowing to return when the exhibit was open. We slowly meandered around the paintings and sculpture in the Modern & Contemporary Art exhibit, browsing several pieces by Georgia O’Keefe, and a smattering of pieces from the Latin American collection, including “Suicide of Dorothy Hale” by Frida Kahlo that was particularly interesting. Then, off on one side, hidden from the rest of the room, was “Female Bather with Raised Arms.” A Picasso. Unassumingly hanging in a quiet spot, without the fanfare usually associated with the name, it was a genuine joy to stand there and see it with new eyes.

This is what the artist intended – for the viewer to see the world through his eyes, even if just for a moment.