The Exhibition

Pictures at an Exhibition.  Mussorgsky.  Why do I remember that?  Not my usual style.  And this was not my typical evening.  It wasn’t Mussorgsky.  Not even music.  Something quite different.

My typical evening sounds pretty boring.  Home from work, eat, gym, a little TV, and some writing.  Recently I’ve been trying to get back to things I used to do.  Before children.  I’m an empty nester now so my life belongs a little more to me.  So, I’ve been going to concerts and the theater and art movies.  And art exhibits.

This time it was an art exhibit with a lecture regarding the exhibit.  Artists, meaning, technical details.  Interesting stuff, albeit maybe a little heavy on the details for someone like me.  But it was good.  Huge, round plastic sculptures in one gallery and modern American painters in the next.

The sculptures were done by an American guy in California during the sixties and seventies.  Giant pieces of Lucite, hand cast and hand polished.  Each one a single color, but many colors represented.  They looked like they had clouds inside them.  I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t roll away.  There seemed to be nothing holding them in place.  Like a coin on its edge, they just stood there.  In a mesmerizing kind of way.

The American painters were household names- Warhol, Lichtenstein, Nevelson, Rauschenberg, Kelly and so many more.  Great stuff.  I need to go back to this one.

What was most interesting was the fact that this was not only not my typical evening, it was not among the sort of people I typically associate with.  I have an interest in the arts.  I’m not an artist.  These people were mainly art museum staff, art benefactors, art collectors, and of course, artists.  I felt very vanilla in this multiflavored world.

Even within this crowd there were subgroups.  Those all in black.  Think Halstead, not Goth.  Those all in white.  Those with boots, cowboy and otherwise.  Those with scarves.  Long haired men, short haired ladies.  Several with trousers rolled up to their knees.  Small purses.  Man bags.  Wine sippers.  Beer drinkers.

Can’t stereotype the art world after all.  Diverse group, like most others.  I kinda like this bunch.  They seem to think outside the box.  Like me.  That’s part of my story.  What’s yours?  http://www.personalhistorywriter.com

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September 23, 2012 · 2:41 am

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