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The Seine at Chatou
Andre Derain
1906
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The William S. Paley Collection is on exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art. I went to see it this past weekend. I was extremely excited - I had planned for several months to see it, so as the time approached, my excitement and anticipation built. Then it was everything and more than I expected and ever wanted.
I don't often talk about art with most of the people I know because, well, perhaps I'm a little embarrassed that I talk too much about it or the conversation may be one sided, and our relationships are based on other things anyway. My life is pretty compartmentalized - I have my tennis friends, my work friends, my summer friends, and my family. I know that they all appreciate my interest in art, but it seems less complicated sometimes, for me and for them, if I keep it more personal.
That's OK. But when my excitement is building for a museum trip or I've just returned from a trip, I'm bursting and when, like today someone at work asked me what I did for my weekend and I told them about this fabulous exhibit filled with Matisse and Picasso and Cezanne and Degas and Gauguin and Braque and Toulouse-Lautrec and . . . oh my gosh I was right there in the same room with these paintings and . . . it was totally amazing . . . and . . . the colors . . . the brushwork . . .
. . . and I notice their gaze averted and they mumble something like oh . . . cool. So, I zip it, I exhale, and take a moment, and say, so? how was your weekend?
I got a thought at the museum as John and I were getting our tickets for admission to the Paley Collection. I thought about how I was behaving when I said to the 20-something admissions hipster, "I'm so-ooo excited!" and I giggled and he just looked through me. And also when John told me that photo-taking was going to be allowed for this special exhibit and I immediately got my camera all prepared and decided that I wanted my picture taken with a Picasso and Matisse, like they, the paintings, were rock stars. I even planned how I was going to do the thumbs up, lean in, hey look at me grin pose. And when we entered the main gallery and I walked into the center and did a slow motion spin, awed, like Dorothy discovering Munchkin Land.
And even when I did a little inside dance when I saw Matisse's
Woman With a Veil, 1927.
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Henri Matisse
Woman With a Veil
1927
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Can't I control my excitement just a little bit?
Now, I know that I am star-struck. I always have been. If I am anywhere in close proximity (like a mile radius) to a famous actor, athlete, musician, and now I guess, a painting, I get star-struck.
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The Seed of the Areoi (Te aa no areois)
Paul Gauguin
1892
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Today my thought became a worry about the seriousness of my relationship to art. Star-struck behavior is not sophisticated and mature, like I should be at my age. Do I love the art or the idea of art? Is art truly what defines me or is it what entertains me? How committed am I to growing in my knowledge and love of art?
Tonight my answers are yes and yes, yes and yes, and very. I believe that art is fun for me so it's easy to maintain my passion and commitment. I can be high-brow, too, in my work at the art gallery (my summer job) where I can present myself professionally and intellectually. But I'm also going to continue doing little dances inside and annoying hipster brats and wanting my picture taken with Picasso's
Boy Leading a Horse, 1905-06. John will even take the photo for me.
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Boy Leading a Horse
Pablo Picasso
1905-06
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He would have, too, this weekend, BUT my camera's battery DIED mid gallery! Aarrgh. I will drive for three hours back to Portland, to get my thumbs up photo for my Facebook friends. It's so exciting to be up close and personal with these Modernist paintings.
