Art Deficit Disorder
The Source
I am not dissing the Gallery Hops. Gallery Hops are a good thing. Gallery Hops help make Jacksonville the mini-Mecca of the arts that it is. God bless art galleries and all those who hop them. But I have A.D.D., Art Deficit Disorder. I am art stupid. Most of us can write this off to a life without proper instruction. I can’t. I’ve toured the Louvre in Paris, The National, The Portrait and The Tate in London, nearly every inch of Florence’s treasure houses, the great art galleries of Moscow, Madrid, Munich, and Murrayville (okay, I was lying about Murrayville..I’m still searching for that one), and I’m still clueless. I’ve stood in front of the Mona Lisa thinking, “So what’s the big deal? There’s not even a horse in the picture.” Michelangelo’s David left me wanting to buy the guy a pair of granite pants. In fact, I’ve only found one art gallery in the world that keeps drawing me back: the Pompidou Center in Paris, and that’s only because the place is so totally weird. The illegitimate son of Andy Warhol and Salvador Dali on steroids. But I’ve heard the rumor that one should appreciate art for the sake of art and not the fact that most monkeys don’t have pianos protruding from their nostrils. And I try, I really do. A few really great works have truly moved me…the Pieta inside Rome’s St. Peter’s, a large room in Austria filled with hundreds of stone doll faces as a tribute to the victims of the Holocaust, a large and horribly vivid crucifix tucked down a back hallway in Springfield’s Franciscan Center (They won’t show you unless you ask.) But on the whole, I’m still A.D.D. I don’t get it. I know it’s my fault because I go to the Gallery Hop, stand around really smart and well-bred Jacksonville people who are studying these works and nodding with admiration. As the night wears on the nods become more pronounced….wine is good for art. I stand and watch them and learn when to nod. Sometimes when something seems to be really, really good, they hum. “Ah. Look at this! Hmmmmm.” I’m working on my hum but so far it always sounds like I’m asking a question about their hum. (I once tried humming in harmony to another hum. This was not taken as a sound of admiration and I stopped doing it.) If all this sounds like a backdoor snobbery, it’s not. These people “arting” really know what they’re talking about…I think. I know these people. I trust these people. And I’m not anti-art. Heck, I occasionally make some myself. I enjoy music and dance and theatre and literature. So why do I come up so stupid when someone puts paint to canvas? When I was in first grade we did finger paint and I was great. One finger paint masterpiece looks just like the other so we were on an even playing field. In college I tried my hand at oils and my Woodland Place landlord, Peg Boudreau, thought my stuff was really good. She asked me to paint a couple of small pictures for her house. When I visited the Boudreaux some time later I found the pictures hanging above the toilet. But there are lots of things that I can’t do which I still appreciate. I appreciate good handwriting even though my scribbling Cro-Magnon. I love hearing a great singing voice although I’ve never owned one. I admire the ability of guitar players and I once even gave lessons even though I’ve never been able to play one. So what’s the deal with art? I try. I think I do. I listen closely when people speak of Jackson Pollack’s vision, Picasso’s use of symbolism, and Monet’s magic with light. I’ve walked for miles through the streets of the world to view magnificent works that don’t do a thing for or to me. I once stood in front of Rembrandt’s The Night Watch in Amsterdam and a lady fainted. (This was after it had been attacked by a knife-wielding schoolteacher in 1975 and before it was sprayed with acid at the hands of another nut in 1990. Gallery Hop patrons, be forewarned and armed.) She’d traveled to Amsterdam from Japan to see a week of Rembrandts and when confronted with the painter’s 11 X 14 foot masterpiece she went down right beside me. I couldn’t catch her. She was short and didn’t have far to fall. I hope to be at the next Gallery Hop. I think they’re a great idea and add another bit of spice to a town already saucy with artistic endeavors. But if you’re standing next to me, please ask me any questions. I may simply hum.