Melbourne: Art Confliction

I'm conflicted about this art thing.

Today, I went to an art gallery, and I don't do well in art galleries. I kept meandering through each of the mini-galleries, rooms, and hallways looking at artsy stuff. The more I walked, the more confused and despondent I got. And to make it worse, it was a modern art gallery. Before I walked in, I told myself, "Jenaya, this is an art museum. Make the best of it. Learn something." But my pep talk didn't work. It's not just this one here in Melbourne. It's all art places. They're just so weird to me.  Maybe if I got a modern artist to explain modern art to me, I'd understand it.  Probably not.  And it also didn't help that I didn't read a single placard explaining the work I was supposed to be aw-ing and amazed by.  There just seemed to be too many words on the thing--wasn't 160 characters or less.

AND THEN, I had a baby life crisis in the middle and almost went to go hide in a corner because I started thinking about my life--never a good thing.  I thought about how this whole museum is full of wall after wall and picture after picture of weirdos making weird things and seeing the world from a weird-weirdo perspective.  And then I started thinking about my perspective and how it makes perfect sense to me, but to few others. So then, I thought, maybe if people saw what was in my brain, they'd think it needs to be in a museum--maybe an ART MUSEUM?!?!!! DOES THAT MAKE ME A WEIRDO?

Probably.

Ugh.

As I reflected on this more over my freshly squeezed hipster juice, I thought about how many weirdos there are in the world and how, really, the weirdos are the ones who make the world colorful and interesting to live in.  Like if there were no weirdos, this planet would be monolithic, lackluster, and jejune (yes, I cheated and just my thesaurus app for that word).  So once again, I've reaffirmed that yes, I'm a weirdo. Yes, I'm cool with that.

I did like the interactive exhibits in the museum.  I made a necklace. It is cool. I guess that makes me a 7 year old.

Great.

Now, I'll talk on the other side of my mouth.  Before this whole art museum adventure, I got a bit behind the group cuz I'm always getting distracted.  This super cool Aussie that was maybe mid-50s stopped my friend and I who are both Black and says, "Oh my! You both are absolutely beautiful!"

Now I don't do well with compliments--especially of my physical stature just because......well, just because.  But he was a photographer or at least played one very well since he carried a camera that was the equivalent of 8 months of my rent.  I chatted with him for several minutes and really, sincerely appreciated his comments.  It's something to hear (which doesn't happen often) comments of one's stature from a "Oh girl, you're so sexy/fine/beautiful/etc." in an "I want you" kind of way, but I felt when he told me, that it was from an artistic standpoint.  Like, maybe my body and shape was/is art.  Maybe I am fearfully and wonderfully made by my Creator Jesus. I was very honored and felt like I should think of my actual physical stature differently after this.  Not that I'm beautiful or attractive or pretty or something.  I am art.

This is going to make me put lotion on differently.  I might even shave my legs more than once a month.  Wait, that last part is stretching it. :)

After talking to this guy, I realized that I'm not a hopeless case when it comes to art.  His photography is absolutely stunning and makes me smile.  He told me he specializes in landscape and African wedding photography.  Here's the link!

Long blog short, I'm grateful for the artist.  I still don't understand the strange ones, but know that they have to do and think and reflect on their world--and should be given space and respect in order to do so..just like I have.  All who live and think and interact and breathe and fulfill our purpose are branded "weirdos"--and oft by those who are not doing those things mentioned in the first part of this sentence.

Instead of a weirdo, call me an artist.