Back in December, I went to my first art museum in 5+ years, and felt confused for the majority of the day. For me, there were no particular ~deeper understandings~ of the pieces/ exhibits I viewed. While I'm not going to pretend to inject meaning into things I can now only appreciate on a superficial level, I can confidently say LACMA is a prime location for people-watching, curators are passionate and knowledgeable, and the museum is immaculate. I found myself mostly paying attention the way fellow museum-goers were interacting with art, brief glimpses of strangers' lives that I thought were really interesting and poignant at some points. I think I'm going through some kind of funky humanist-existentialist phase where anything that makes me question how I fit in, in relation to the humans around me, sets me off in a bout of existential contemplation. *Knocks on wood* I'll probably be laughing at myself in about five years' time, scoffing at my silly lil' teenage humanist-existentialist ideals.
|"For Beginners" - Bruce Nauman // Flickr|
|"Second to None" - Ry Rockland|
|Does anyone know the name of this?|
|"Praying to the Light Machine" -|
|"Giant Pool Balls" - Claes Odenburg // Flickr|
When reading a Yelp review, one visitor talked about how the art "spoke" to her, and I was just curious as to how ~enlightening~ her museum experience must have felt. Dang. Was it because I [admittedly] dragged my family, resulting in a rushed day? Did I arrive in hopes of feeling like some kind of urban sophisticate? Worldly and cultured? I hope to visit again just by myself and [ideally] drift around in some peaceful, meditative state, taking in all the nuances and intricacies yet to be appreciated. Until next time,
|"Agnès Varda in Californialand"-Agnès Varda|