Sunday, February 18, 2007
Art Smart
Friend Amy and I went to the Art Institute today. It's free until the 21st, so people are absolutely coming out of the woodwork to gawk at Chagall while it's still cost efficient. This was sort of an asset because it exponentially increased the opportunities for people watching within the museum, which I really consider to be an art form in and of itself. For instance, in one of the modern rooms I overheard a lady with a neon pink fanny pack waxing poetic on Picasso's "abstractual" style and its possible roots in his "mental disturbedness." Later, as we examined works from the Italian Renaissance, I heard a young man remark that Titian (and you can guess how THAT was pronounced) certainly had a certain enthusiasm for "fat chicks." Of course, I can't really be too offended, because I myself had to remark that the Dutch Masters often depict individuals who "look like aliens" and that some Baroque works "make the Virgin Mary look like she's got dumps like a truck." I'm sure that someone across town is blogging about my cultural ignorance at this very moment.
But the best exhibit of all had to be the "miniature rooms" exhibit, where they have essentially set up tiny dollhouses for about a hundred different periods in different areas of the world. I enjoy immensely the fact that effort and expense have been dedicated to finding or making four inch square Medieval tapestries and six centimeter chandeliers, but my joy was only increased by the ladies in front of us, who discussed each tiny room as though real people lived there.
"Oh, these people must have a lot of money," they would say. "Look at those golden candelabras. Those are nice."
But not every decorating choice the imaginary people made was exempt from censure:
"I don't like those red draperies. They're far too heavy for the room. I just don't think they fit in there at all."
And, of course, there were practical concerns:
"I just don't know how they take care of those high ceilings, you know that?" (Pause here to note the delicious irony that the "high ceilings" in question are literally four inches high.) "I mean, they must just get cobwebs like the dickens there."
I've got to get back the Art Institute more often. Really it would be a bargain at twice the price.
Friend Amy and I went to the Art Institute today. It's free until the 21st, so people are absolutely coming out of the woodwork to gawk at Chagall while it's still cost efficient. This was sort of an asset because it exponentially increased the opportunities for people watching within the museum, which I really consider to be an art form in and of itself. For instance, in one of the modern rooms I overheard a lady with a neon pink fanny pack waxing poetic on Picasso's "abstractual" style and its possible roots in his "mental disturbedness." Later, as we examined works from the Italian Renaissance, I heard a young man remark that Titian (and you can guess how THAT was pronounced) certainly had a certain enthusiasm for "fat chicks." Of course, I can't really be too offended, because I myself had to remark that the Dutch Masters often depict individuals who "look like aliens" and that some Baroque works "make the Virgin Mary look like she's got dumps like a truck." I'm sure that someone across town is blogging about my cultural ignorance at this very moment.
But the best exhibit of all had to be the "miniature rooms" exhibit, where they have essentially set up tiny dollhouses for about a hundred different periods in different areas of the world. I enjoy immensely the fact that effort and expense have been dedicated to finding or making four inch square Medieval tapestries and six centimeter chandeliers, but my joy was only increased by the ladies in front of us, who discussed each tiny room as though real people lived there.
"Oh, these people must have a lot of money," they would say. "Look at those golden candelabras. Those are nice."
But not every decorating choice the imaginary people made was exempt from censure:
"I don't like those red draperies. They're far too heavy for the room. I just don't think they fit in there at all."
And, of course, there were practical concerns:
"I just don't know how they take care of those high ceilings, you know that?" (Pause here to note the delicious irony that the "high ceilings" in question are literally four inches high.) "I mean, they must just get cobwebs like the dickens there."
I've got to get back the Art Institute more often. Really it would be a bargain at twice the price.
