flashingreds...
i've got reservations
(2004-04-20, 11:25 a.m.)
Tired. So tired. Last night was the first night I�d been to bed before 2 am in days, but only because I had the p/t job last night. I nearly dozed off several times, the essays were so stimulating, and it meant that I hit the hay right after �As Time Goes By.� (One of my favorite episodes, really. Dame Judi does such a job of being the nervous girlfriend, before she meets the incomparable Rocky, Lionel�s father.)

So as I worked, the crew took in over half the total art for this weekend�s show, which must be in place before the private opening Thursday night.

At some point early in the weekend, my participation went from the casual, �oh, sure, I�ll stop by and help for a bit,� to �you can count on me till the end of time.� And it�s been an absolute blast, even considering the inability of creative folks to follow directions and the tendency toward creating excess drama. (I�ve earned the right to say it. And yes, I realize I resemble the remark, thanks.)

I came shockingly close to buying a giant sculpture of a lollipop. In fact, Coach put a sold sticker on it yesterday, till I called her back in a guilt-ridden, boringly practical panic to have her take it off. While I adore the political message of a piece entitled �The American Sucker,� it also struck me as completely impractical. As ewenorker and I discussed briefly yesterday, we�re not entirely sure what it is we�re buying with such art. Does the political message come with it and stay, once it enters the domestic confines of my apartment, or does it simply start to look like a piece of junk? Would I really want it hanging on the wall above my bed or in my hallway? What would I do when family and friends found it offensive, as is certain to happen? Does it appreciate in value, or will a future relative someday dig it out of the closet, haul it to an Antiques Roadshow-type event, and be laughed right out of the building?

But yet, as we watched pieces come in, it felt to me the most damning thing I could do was pronounce a piece �innocuous.� I desire art that elicits feelings of some sort, but when I look at the pieces I�ve brought home already, at least one strikes me as purely decorative, which explains, I suppose, the instinct I�ve had to frame it up and give it to a friend as a gift.

I adore the antique pieces in my home because they�re so utilitarian, not just decorative. The base of my kitchen cabinet is riddled with stains and marks, signs to me of a rich history. Though I don�t know the people who�ve owned it, or some of my other pieces, I feel like purchasing antiques is like purchasing history. To use and spend time with antiques, to me, is to notice that the carvings on each leg of the nightstand don�t exactly match and that the dovetails aren�t perfectly spaced, which makes me feel closer to some unknown carpenter somehow, hence the feeling of buying history. Nothing like the tragically common and dull machine-made uniformity of the IKEA-type furnishing preferred by most of my generation.

But again, what do you get when you buy art? And if it�s not innocuous, if it has some sort of political or social meaning, what happens to it when it enters a home or when time passes, and public opinion has rendered its message pointless or pass�? Does having and displaying it still say something about us we may not like or truly espouse? To what degree does it matter?

So in the end, I have my eye on some framed photos of images of Paris and such, with a nice arty effect of overlapping images, which I�ll buy for a housewarming gift for my little sister and her husband. They have a bit of depth, but not so much as to be inaccessible to them. But I would not presume to know what sort of art would appeal to them. Nor am I sure I want to know, given my wee sister�s penchant for those dreadful Kim Anderson photos of little kids dressed in adult clothes in vaguely romantic poses.

There�s a lovely bracelet I�d like for myself. A tiny picture of a country home printed on lovely handmade paper, which would look nice in a bathroom or would make an innocuous gift. The things I really love are beyond my price range. Or beyond my underlying desire to attempt practicality.

I�ll retire �innocuous� for today. It�s worked almost as hard as we have.