Not an Art Critic

I am not an art critic. I am, instead, one of those irritating lay people who by virtue of upbringing, education and now preference occasionally impose myself on the art world by observing its current offerings.

I enjoy doing so now but that was not always the case. As a child, I accompanied my parents and their friends to museums, galleries, festivals and street fairs where they looked at art. I was not encouraged to attend but expected to quietly enjoy whatever I did appreciate, though my opinion was largely irrelevant because I was after all just a child. The mysteries of that adult world mingled with their elusive conversations on art and so I find myself some years later having been lured into this obscure world. I have become one of those adults who attends art events, sometimes out of obligation to my continued edification, but usually out of curiosity.

I have not studied art. When I had the option of taking an art history class in high school, I did not because it interfered with a psychology class that I chose to take instead. Despite assorted attempts to teach me how to draw an egg, my drawing still looks like an oblong. In college, I studied philosophy and the history of math. I studied Kant, but now read Ruskin, Whistler, Fry, and others that are suggested or seem fun to read. I note the captions in museum shows I attend and peruse any articles that appear in my favored magazines or newspapers. I occasionally pick up a book at the library or online on this artist, that period or some theory. My interest in art is unformed and seemingly whimsical.

I do, however, care about art. Sometime in my twenties, I discovered that I really enjoy art. I like being able to look at pretty pictures but I also like the experience that perhaps Kant did describe best as the free play of the imagination and understanding. Most of the walls of my humble home may require floor to ceiling book cases but there is always at least one wall that displays the pieces I favor at the moment from my very modest collection of affordable art. I was an artist model for six years and over the many hours of sitting (or standing) in studios listened to all manner of problems various artists encountered in creating art. Mostly I heard them damn the poverty of the art world, including in their monologues: poorly made brushes, the degradation of current art education, and the nihilism that suffuses the ironic tendencies of most modern curators.

I live in one of the art capitols of the world and am regularly insulted by the offerings of this metropolis. After attending the recent Whitney Biennial, I wondered if anyone actually considered what is being displayed. I am not the only person who attends an art museum and questions why I am watching a video made by someone who never studied film. I can't believe that I am the only person who attends a gallery to witness a performance by someone who has never exercised their mind in the history of movement or theater and wonders why. And as someone who studies words and literature, I particularly fail to comprehend why artists think they should present words whose use and history they have never bothered to study and therefore rarely use with the significance possible.

This is not to say that I am incapable of admiring idiot-savant work. I own a piece of outsider art, in fact. I also own other works and one of the worst is a figure drawing (that was given to me) so I am not unconditionally partial to "pretty pictures" or "art you can understand/describe/show my Mormon grandmother." I am not a Luddite but I can suggest that the manufacturing of art has mostly proffered problems. I will declare that it doesn't require an art critic, dealer or curator to tell you what to appreciate, although sometimes they can offer insights that are quite valuable. I can be wrong, misinformed and learn, but I can also argue against inanity.

So this blog is about a young woman- a mere audience member to the art world- who can opine on what she sees (perhaps even reasonably intelligently but certainly for the amusement of her judgment) and, as of today, is rather inclined to do so.