Saturday, November 19, 2011

Those dumbass stripe paintings.

You might understand my hate for Barnett Newman if you knew how much Canada paid for one of his pieces. I know I'm supposed to stand behind this kind of stuff but I can't. Especially not for a red canvas with a couple of purple stripes. Colourfield. Rothko did it so much better, all I'm saying.
Saw 3babes on bicycles earlier. One of them grinned at me from under his mustache as they wizzed by. Went to drop a few books off at the communal book shelf on Princess street earlier. Nothing but Westerns and Romances in there, sometimes I forget those things exist.
Last night Zoe's man friend told me that about 3 months ago he told his friend (who I met only breifly) that I thought he (the friend) was a racist when they were in line for the washroom together. Apparently this friend of his was torn up about it for months, that this stranger would think he was a racist. I thought this was a little strange and a little funny, that Cam would tell me this so long after the fact. Also at the opening: these gourds that were attached to strange plywood instruments and somehow amplified sound. The museum guard made me pick one of the instruments up, and tipsy 'ol me almost dropped it all over the place. This nervous woman standing next to me was grabbing at the air with a horrified look on her face. Reminds me of that time my mom's friend showed her this died silk hanging construction that she'd languished over for hours and my mom picked it up and the whole thing fell to pieces.
Saw some ceramic dishes from Chinese shipwrecks that had been at the bottom of the sea for literally hundreds of years but look like they just came out of the kiln. They had two identical bowls, one where the glaze had cracked and sea creatures had latched on in, and one in perfect green with a swirl composure. Revisited my favourite Varley. All in all, good day for art.

2 comments:

l.vinnedge said...

Ritchie, you are not "supposed to stand behind" anything. Personal judgement can be a good thing. Otherwise, you would be gasping in awe at urinals that have been broken and cows that have been sawed in half hanging in galleries, and calling this high art. And you would have none of my respect, woman.

Emma & Sarah said...

well yeah, but the thing is... there is no such thing as "high" art anymore. That's what's generally been excepted anyway. Also do not bring Duchamp into this. That's a whole other argument.