* * * Warning: M Word in this post * * *
Yesterday in figure/life drawing we drew feet. Just feet for the entire morning. And the model was male, so almost nil lovely curves there, and since he walks around in jandals/flip-flops and bare feet, his soles were black. Ugh.
Ronette suggested me to read Australian art critic Robert Hughes' memoir "Things I Didn't Know". It apparently has a bit about conceptual art that she knew I would like. My understanding of her interpretation of what he wrote is, conceptual art is hard to appreciate because there is not much there for the audience to appreciate. I think it means so much happens inside the artist but don't quite make it to the final work that's easy to see.
Hey, I mean absolutely no offense to those who practice conceptual. I see how it can be a thrilling intellectual exercise on the part of the maker. But it explains to me why, often, I come away feeling I've just witnessed yet another creative masturbation. I think the concepts in the artist's heads don't often translate into something visual (in case of visual arts and ... dance?) which can easily be picked up by the audience who hasn't been inside the artist's head. Ergo conceptual art by friends (whose background or process I may be privy to) or artists about whom I've read a little are a tad easier on my head, if not eyes or heart.
And I don't discount the fact I've an unsophisticated/uneducated, stone-age, salon/art-society aesthetic, (OK, not "art society",) but I've never made a secret I want art to be beautiful, at least pretty.
I love Saturday mornings.
EDIT: Didn't realize he was main stream in New York since 1970, and of a somewhat controversial character, I see..