The Heart of Artness

Originally published November 12, 2008

Last week I was invited by a friend to an art show reception featuring some of his art. I of course accepted, despite the fact that I’ve never felt entirely comfortable around art. As soon as I arrived at the studio I was filled with a tangle of emotions. The most prominent feeling I had was one of awkwardness. Before I go any further I want to make it clear that I like art. In fact, I am rather envious of artists. The ability to take a mental image and make it into something tangible is a talent I have never had and never will have. I can vividly remember attempting to draw when I was younger, but since I can barely write my own name legibly I never got very far. What makes me feel uncomfortable around art is the fact that I’ve never really understood it. To understand a piece’s meaning you have to look at it in dimensions that my mind is simply unable to comprehend.
I remember visiting the Tate Liverpool last year. Many of the pieces there were very interesting, but some were beyond my understanding. An example of this was the paintings in the genre of monochrome. For those of you who don’t know, monochrome is when a canvas is painted a single color and that’s it. Yellow or blue pieces of canvas just don’t seem that artistic to me. The piece that sticks in my mind the most was a photo of a woman pulling a long piece of paper out of her vagina. The paper contained a speech where the woman recounts a conversation she had with a film director. As far as I can tell, the only point of this piece was to haunt my dreams for months.
The art show on campus had much less confusing art. Despite this, I still felt uncomfortable. The reason for this was because the artists who made all the pieces in the show were present, but it was impossible to tell whose art was whose. I knew most of the artists there, but I didn’t know how to compliment their work. The most articulate things I could come up with to say were “This is cool,” or “I like this.” These statements were true, but made me sound like an idiot.
I have to apologize to Parry Grimm because I may have offended her with my extreme lack of artistic knowledge. I was looking at a photo with a friend and said something along the lines of, “I’m not sure I understand this. Why is the picture so small?”
“Oh that’s one of Parry’s.” My friend said pointing her out to me. Much to my horror, Parry was well within earshot of my previous idiotic statement.
“Uh, I like your picture, Parry.” I said in an effort to cover up my stupidity.
“Thank you.” She replied. I walked over to the refreshments in order to regroup after my embarrassing display. I later tried to compliment Rachel Warren on her sculpture of a wall. The most interesting question I could ask was, “Is this a real piece of a wall?” She said it wasn’t and that she constructed it herself. After an awkward pause she walked away leaving me to reflect on how stupid a question I had asked.
So, let me now set the record straight. I did like the art there. I liked Parry’s photography. I liked Tawi’s paintings of people. I like Judith’s collages. I liked Rachel’s wall sculpture. I liked Navajeet’s ink blot city maps. I liked Kristan’s body tracings and her sequin dress. (Her dress was not part of the art show, but it was cool.) There was not a piece of art there I didn’t like. So if my compliments about anyone’s art seemed insincere because they were so simplistic, I apologize. Artists of Dickinson, I like your art even though I’m too stupid to describe why.