A Personal Odyssey Through the Canvas, from Puzzles to Masterpieces.️
Curator’s Note: The author reflects on their journey and challenges with appreciating modern art, feeling overwhelmed by its abstract forms. They ponder the subjectivity of taste, illustrated through personal preferences in food versus their daughters’ tastes. Despite procrastination hindering their artistic pursuits, fond memories of visiting art museums inspire a deep appreciation for art’s timeless beauty. The author recalls a childhood visit to a museum, longing to absorb the art while others rushed by. A pivotal encounter with a humble artist taught them the value of true mastery. The narrative emphasizes the quest for solitude in creativity and the lasting impact of art on human experience. This story was written by A K Grisam an author of multiple memoir books.
I am baffled when confronted with Modern Art. I stare at cubes, triangles, and bizarre shapes, straining to understand. The fault, of course, is mine. I did not try hard enough to “enjoy” the art. Perhaps I should have attended an art school or approached a modern art expert to tutor me.
The Subjectivity of Joy
On the other hand, even twins do not share the same likes and dislikes. I am not averse to chocolates, yet I consistently prefer a Samosa over a sweet treat. I have always wondered why there are thousands of varieties and why it remains a multi-million-dollar market. When I mention this to my daughters as they swoon over the flavours of their new chocolate, they pounce on me. “How can you relish the repugnant odour and bitter-gourd taste of beer?” they ask. “There is a multi-billion dollar market for that.”
They have a point. My observation was merely a justification for my lack of enthusiasm for modern art.
The Eternal Power of the Master’s Stroke
Paintings and art have enthralled people for hundreds and thousands of years. You may love music and books, but if you listen to the same song or read the same book repeatedly, the novelty eventually wears off. Conversely, you will never tire of watching the same beautiful painting every day; your joy and peace do not diminish with time.
Dabbling in the Splendor of Color
During World War II, people risked their lives to protect The Night Watch. That is the beauty and power of paintings, sculptures, and artwork.
Now, procrastination is my middle name. I am not proud of wearing that badge. Every single day, I am determined to shake off that trait as a wet dog shakes off water, but nothing can exorcise that demon. My exasperated mother used to comment that I would postpone chewing a piece of a peeled, cut, and fed banana. Because of this, I would love to watch and enjoy a painting or artwork without struggling to solve puzzles or learn how to enjoy them, as is required for modern art.
A Childhood Linger
When I was in my pre-teens, our family visited an art museum. The others hurried past, glancing at the masterpieces, but I yearned to linger.
My brother was impatient. “Unless we rush,” he said, “we will miss the noon clock show.”
This clock in the museum is unusual. Every hour, a small door opens and a man, the size of a thumb, strikes a bell before retreating as the door closes. This clock has been functional for over a century; how it is still ticking is a mystery. The museum remains open even on Sundays, and a simple winding spring mechanism has survived many centuries!
Such is a mother’s love; every mother feels her child is the most beautiful, smart, and intelligent gift to mankind. Her child’s first steps are like Neil Armstrong’s on the moon. The poor guests and friends made the usual, obligatory admiring noises so as not to hurt her feelings.
Returning to my art pursuits, I eventually went alone and spent several hours absorbing the beauty and splendor of the paintings in the museum. Naturally, I was inspired. I purchased watercolors and dabbled in the art. My mother, like all mothers, was proud of my work. She would brandish my paintings in the faces of all guests and friends, rather than hiding those monstrosities behind her in embarrassment.
A Lesson in True Mastery and Humility
My problem was that I required solitude. I could not function if someone were watching over my shoulder, and our house was teeming with siblings and guests. Consequently, I would stay awake until everyone went to sleep to pursue my painting
A distant relative of ours was a popular artist and cartoonist whose work filled magazines. My mother took me and my abominable paintings to his home, but he was not there. She introduced me to the artist’s wife and left. The woman asked me, “Your paintings are good. You have talent. Do you want to see my paintings?”
I said yes. She brought them out to show me. I was not just brought down to earth with a thud; my smugness was buried like a missile aimed at the ground. Her paintings were museum-class masterpieces. The vibrant colors, the contrast of light and shadow… and yet, she was modest about her art. She did not proclaim her talent from the rooftops as my mother did. I fell at her feet and begged her to accept me as a disciple. She taught me with infinite patience, sharing her skills and a few trade secrets.
The Sanctuary of the Night Canvas
My problem was that I required solitude. I could not function if someone were watching over my shoulder, and our house was teeming with siblings and guests. Consequently, I would stay awake until everyone went to sleep to pursue my painting.
Contd…
To read the full story, please see Rembrandt, Modern Art, and I
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