Hating the experience of art.
Art galleries are one of my most favorite places, but lately I have come to realize that I also hate them for lack of a better word.
It is a very personal experience, standing alone in a big white room with art works on display… all you have to go by is either your own interpretation of what you see or a vague and ambiguous description provided by the artist, so really in the end it all comes down to your own individual take on what you are seeing.
I hate it.
I hate that feeling of not understanding, it makes me feel isolated.
I used to think experiencing someone’s work was connecting with them, but that connection is so fucking limited Sure you can engage with them in conversation, but still you may NEVER get what they’re on about it.
I hate that feeling of viewing art in the foolish hope of wanting to be momentarily connected to another persons soul through their art work.
It’s like this selfish experience and I don’t know how to process it.
How does one go about loving something so much to hating it?
I don’t use that word lightly, but I mean it now.
I don’t hate the artist, hate the experience of viewing their work. No matter how happy I may feel, in the end, all it is are pieces of my own perception.
Maybe not.
Only time will tell how I feel about it.
But, I am grateful for the fact that at least I do feel something… I do feel that much closer to the artist, even if it’s limited.
Fucking fuck.
