Beauty x Irony = Art

My taste in art is simple: I like pretty things, and I love beautiful ones.

What does beauty have to do with Art, you ask? Excellent question!

You got me. I have no idea. I’m not even sure what art has to do with Art, though I can generally tell the difference.

I’m not an artist; I was just raised by one and I married one. I still know less about Art than Robert does about Yiddish. This tells you either a lot about our priorities or more about the relative amount of time we spend in delis versus museums.

That said, I’ve been to two museums in as many weeks. I saw tons of pretty things and quite a lot of beautiful ones. I’ve also had religious iconography up to here, no, higher, up to there. It all was mostly cool though.

What with our busy lives – not to mention all our technology -- it’s easy to forget how mesmerizing a painting can be. Also dynamic and enchanting. You should go sometime.

(Scenes from both days immortalized at @scarycookies on Vine if you’re so inclined.)

Never mind all that. Let’s mock the stuff that I don’t think of as art, let alone Art, like the huge room filled with pieces of furniture all (sloppily) painted the same shade of pink, or the giant brown canvas with a semi-meaningless sentence running across the middle.

For some reason, pretentious symbology is usually large. Maybe it’s like the alleged inverse ratio of truck size to penis size, only in this case it’s a direct ratio of art size to fatuousness.

Oh, speaking of fatuous, let me tell you about the loud, know-it-all douchebag in the Kubrick exhibit. On second thought, no, I’ll spare you. He was only typical of the type.

But I promised you irony in the title, so here you go:

Inside the Kubrick exhibit, I saw people taking pictures of the cameras on display.

Sure, if you want to nitpick, that’s not really ironic, but I’m not sure it’s really art either, so we’re even.