Devon and I decided to rip ourselves away from our computers long enough to take in some modern art at the Guggenheim.
OMFG.
Now, before you art geeks (I’m looking at you, Donna) hurt me, let me say, I liked a lot of it. Until we got about two-thirds through the museum, and Devon and I both hit, as he put it, our OFFS point.
Meaning, “Oh, For Fuck’s Sake.”
Manet’s “Before the Mirror” is an awesome painting and I briefly considered stealing it before I decided I was too pretty to go to prison. And I really liked a memorial to childhood from an artist whose name escapes me now. But Devon and I reached our limit at the same time when we hit a collection of photographs of “life,” including an emo chick cutting her hand and bleeding over a piece of paper.
Devon: “I’ve known too many artist twats who cut themselves.”
The Guggenheim is designed so visitors move through it in an ascending circle, and we noted that the art got more pretentious as we ascended. I get it, guys: Life is full of pain and joy, joy and pain. The only people blown away by this are 11-year-olds discovering their pubic hair for the first time.
P.S.: If you hear of a famous Manet painting disappearing from the Guggenheim, it totally wasn’t me.
No one finds Contemporary Art more confusing than me, Monster. I had one art instructor ask me why, if I didn’t necessarily see the artistic merit of dirty clothing squished onto a canvas with various things from the garbage can stapled on, and the whole thing dipped in resin; why, oh why was I a Fine Art major?
All I can say is o.O.
I don’t get it either.
I just draw pictures, man.