Let me start out by admitting I have absolutely no appreciation of art. This admission is not one I wish to brag about. Rather it does somewhat lessen my self-worth. Nevertheless it is a truthful statement. I tried once in college to improve myself by enrolling in an art appreciation class, but alas, after only the third session the instructor kindly asked me to withdraw. It seems he had never failed anyone in his twenty tenured years of teaching this course, but he felt I had the potential to break his record. I tried to persuade him to allow me to audit the course, but I noticed the nervous tic on his upper lip and was convinced not to persist.
Over the years of traveling I have been encouraged, actually forced, to visit a number of art galleries around the world. My wife as well as the tourist guides under whose influence I fell insisted I be exposed to what was considered artistic beauty. In Florence, Italy I stood before the statue of David amidst a group of sighing, crooning spectators. When asked my thoughts I muttered “Great set of pecs” which didn’t go over too well with the questioning docent. While touring the Louvre I found myself standing beside a tall, very thin, and well-dressed woman, and a skinny pony-tailed man wearing a black beret. They were overcome with emotion viewing some sitting female with an enigmatic smile. When I whispered “Not much sex appeal” they hurried off.
At the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia they showed me a whole section painted by a fellow name Rembrandt. When I suggested they couldn’t be worth very much because there were so many, I was shunned by others for the remainder of our visit.
Why then this article? Well, I finally discovered an art gallery which I think is absolutely wonderful. At long last I spent an enjoyable afternoon in an art museum .You simply must go out of your way to visit this place. You will enjoy it – you have my guarantee. Besides, it is considered quite upscale. Maybe my appreciation of art is improving as I age. The gallery? The Tate Modern located on the banks of the River Thames, just a block from the Millennium Bridge in dear old London, England. It contains an incredible display of international modern and contemporary art.
Let me describe some of the art pieces housed there which I felt to be thoroughly delightful. When you first approach the Tate from the water’s edge, you will find a thirty foot high inflated statue done by Paul Mc Carthy entitled “Daddy’s Head Coming Out of a Catsup Bottle.” It is as described. Great! This work is located next to a huge black balloon with a square head. The name? Blockhead.
When you enter you will find yourself in the main hall – the Turbine Hall. It is some fifty yards long and ten yards wide filled with steam and lighted entirely by monochromatic light. The ceiling is one enormous mirror. At the far end sits a replica of the sun. This eerie unusual light makes everyone look pale, wan, and even slightly ill. There are people lying on the floor looking at themselves in the great reflective mirror above. Hey, this is fun art!
The inside of the Tate Modern is loaded with about as much humorous art as you can absorb. A urinal sits on a pedestal with the title of “Fountain.” A pile of paint rags appear on a ladder. A German artist, who must be one of those starving fellows you hear about, painted a dozen sausages. Some guy had built a car out of cardboard, and it is considered magnificent. I thought one exhibit was a radiator for the room until I noticed it was roped off and titled “Radiator.” There were some pictures done on brown butcher paper which looked a lot like the ones my eight year old grandson paints, but here they were framed and titled instead of being mounted on a refrigerator door with magnets. They made me smile.
One item that fascinated me no end was a huge apothecary bureau. Each drawer contained a collection of shards – yes, broken pieces of pottery – laid out in neat, tidy rows. This interactive display of art maintained my interest for a much longer period than I usually spend in most museums.
I could go on and on – but I don’t want to spoil it for you. If you love Della Robbia, go to Florence. But, if you just want to have a good time immersed in art, don’t miss the Tate Modern in London. It’s a gas!