As anyone who knows me personally can attest, my stream of consciousness can be likened to the line of a heart rate monitor, never at rest, perpetually in motion. In my high school yearbook, someone wrote that I was "a profound thinker." I've known this person for years, and I laugh thinking how difficult it must have been for him to come up with a filtered synonym for spastically psychotic.
I am sorry to say I have not a single art-appreciative bone in my body. In the sense that I enjoy simultaneous stimulation of sound, touch, taste, and smell, it becomes personally difficult to appreciate a glacial piece of canvas. It's too bad I can't find meaning in da Vinci's Mona Lisa, nor maturely appreciate nude statues at the art museum. And don't even get me started on the Museum of contemporary Art. I mean- "Black Dot on Wall"- really?!?
Over the years, the only style that has resonated with me is Ink Dot Portraits. Being able to create a true to life facial portrait from varying colored dots to create shadows and depth, is awesome! The logic behind each dot representing a larger purpose, that all of the world's creation is formed of obscure particles, is fascinating and humbling. The correct placement of only three dots determines whether the portrait bears a grimace or a grin.
I've been doing a lot of thinking about this coming school year and about how each decision I choose will furrow a future path and plow a trail behind me. Sometimes I feel like I'm standing on circle 47 in one of my childhood picture books. There's a black line behind me, and I must choose to go to circle 48 or 53: choosing a destined path or deciding my own untold outcome.
No one in this world has every created a perfect connect-the-dots image of their life- no one has always chosen the right dot 100% of the time, and done everything true and right and what G-d or anyone else expected of him. As a kid, I used to love coloring books, and I remember feeling frustrated when the dog I tried connecting was missing an eyeball or a tail despite my concentration.
It's perspective I tell you, but if I had to choose, I'd rather live in an Ink Dot Portrait then a coloring book. I'd rather people interpret my blending dark spots as shadows and depth, than see my mistakes as a mutated tail, and push me further in the wrong direction. It's a more forgiving attitude to interpret yourself and others as having different degrees of black, white, and grey. I'm merely a beginner, but from the little I do know, isn't that the point of art?
Museum of Contemporary Art Admission Prices:
|Adults (including Senior Citizens) and teens||$25|