Thursday, December 9, 2010

Of Anish Kapoor and bathroom glass.

Its clay mold, all of it really.

And to some of us, it comes down to restructuring, reinventing.

Some of us, we turn reality inside out.

We're fascinated with the inside of things, it touches what is most base, most inherent in us.

Nakedness is fascinating as art. Not overt, crude nakedness. No.

Not aesthetic realism or plaintive impressionism, no.

Not even human nakedness, just an objectified extension.

You're looking into every hole, and you keep peering deeper, cause, surely, there has to be an end, but ...there isn't.

And that stumps you.

And there, there the artist has you.

Cause you can't figure him out, you can't just say, 'What a profound artistic statement,' and walk away.

You're unnerved, and he caught you off guard.

You weren't expecting this. I mean, come on, its modern art after all.

It has a visual genius to it that your mind can't even begin to decode.

You're not saying you loved it, it didn't even overwhelm you.

But you saw something there.
Something that wasn't here to start with.

And that's enough.

For now.

1 comment:

  1. I think liking art is so much about staying back to look when everybody has left. Letting the unassuming tissue come to life.