
I love art. Just lately I have been visiting London and enjoying some of the museums and gallaries that, like so many things, we just take for granted in this country. I wonder how many cities there are where you can walk in to a gallery, completely free of charge, and see works of art by Rothko, Dali and Cezanne.
I love impressionism. I could sit for hours looking at those beautiful lily ponds created by Claude Monet, imagining myself dipping a toe in to those deep blue waters and watching the ripple move slowly across the surface of the water.
And how can you not be inspired by the strength of colour and feeling that Van Gogh put in to his paintings. I sometimes wonder if he put so much life in to his canvases that he didnt have enough left for himself.
Unfortunately, however hard I try, I cannot draw the same inspiration from a work that I saw last weekend at the Tate Modern - Joseph Beuys 'The Pack'. The text that accompanys the work states.......
This strongly autobiographical work [!] refers directly to Beuys's plane crash over the Crimea during the Second World War. He often described being rescued by a band of Tartars who coated his body with fat and wrapped him in felt. Whether real or mythical, the story shows the symbolic importance of these materials in Beuys's mind. It also suggests a fable of death and rebirth in which Beuys is purged, perhaps of his wartime guilt, and brought back to life by a nomadic people.
However hard I try to embrace the symbolism of this piece of art, it still looks like a rusty old VW Camper Van, 24 sledges, some felt blankets and a few chunks of animal fat (eeuuww!!). Give me a beautiful painting and let me float away, just for a while, I will have enough camper vans to deal with on the way home.
Kx
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