At the Museum of Modern Art this past weekend I was thinking about the nature of art. I thought about this a lot as a kid. Dad was an artist so we had art in our house but how was that different from art in museums? Why was the canvas with the single polka dot on it hanging on the wall of a museum and the miniature violins I watched Dad make were not? I was (and still am) biased, of course.
But I did find the Jackson Pollack paintings more striking and moving than I had imagined I would. One of them reminded me of beautiful Japanese calligraphy in bold black strokes on a parchment background.
Another painting was heavily layered with paint, in addition to cigarette butts and bits of other stuff. It was described as a “labyrinth,” which fascinates me – I like the idea of a maze of paths connecting and criss-crossing and dead-ending without any rhyme or reason. I could get lost in a maze (or a painting) like that.