Contemporary art is not my cup of tea. Today at Boston’s Institute of Contemporary Art, I sat through a five-minute film of tar being poured over a pile of sugar cubes. That’s five minutes of my life that I’ve lost forever. I walked through a room that showcased a large plywood table with a bunch of crap on it. That’s half a room of heat wasted on an inanimate object. I even spent thirty seconds reading a caption next to a giant photograph of a pigeon, when my sister Jess gushed “That’s so cool, they took a picture of a pigeon in a studio – it symbolizes freedom in captivity” and I responded “Which is essentially the same thing as taking a picture of a goldfish in a bowl.” (And she laughed. I love that my sister can be deep but can laugh at herself.)
Two exhibits that were worth my time were Rania Matar’s black and white photography and a gigantic collection of Shepard Fairey’s street art, which has become a media/people -magnet.
But what I enjoyed most about visiting the Institute of Contemporary Art was not the art at all – it was the ocean.
The ICA building juts out over the Atlantic Ocean. Walking through or sitting in the above space is trippy. It was especially trippy today, in this foggy, snowy weather.
Here in New England, we have no choice but to find beauty in the bleak. For example, I’ve found the beauty in tonight’s Nor’easter: No Sunday night homework since there’s no class tomorrow. [crosses fingers]… And I suppose I find beauty in the bleakness of contemporary art when I laugh at the stupidness of it.
Do you need a laugh?
The Crap-On-A-Plywood-Table exhibit won a $25,000 award. FUCKING RIDICULOUS.
All photos are my own except #s 1 and 2. And yes, I’m back from my sabbatical. I guess I just can’t resist the instant gratification of having others read my words.