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An Evening at The Met
Jan. 24th, 2004 11:42 amThe Metropolitan Museum of Art is basically an opera house for paintings and sculptures. About the size of four city blocks, it sits on its stone haunchs on the East side of Central Park facing Fifth Avenue, the wooded expanse of the park pressing close behind it.
On a frigid evening, ignoring a head cold, I ventured into the Met's vast expanse and hunted down my friend CW who had secreted herself within the two story book store we were meeting in. Luckily for me, she decided to poke her nose out while I stood searching the incoming crowd. Together we zig-zagged our way through rooms filled with paintings spanning every period from early medieval times to the 1900s. Pausing in front of scenic New York State and Northeastern landscapes by painters such as Thomas Church and Thomas Cole. CW is a huge fan of the Hudson River School - a group of painters specializing in semi-detailed almost photographic oil paintings of Hudson River landscapes. She comes once every three or four weeks to the museum to just wander amongst the paintings.
( a ramble on the Impressionists, specifically Degas )
( ramble on the carved wood rooms )
Finally, weary from walking for two hours, we moved to one of my favorite areas - the Egyptian tomb like structure that I can never remember the name of, housed in a huge windowed greenhouse at the northern end of the Museum. The air having a damp somewhat heavy smell of a warm climate.
We sat on stone benches and chatted about things.
Evil bosses. Taste. The President - whose mannerisms and facial expressions eerily remind CW of the evil boss. CW suggested I read the transcripts of the US President's speech - where, he apparently has some interesting things to say. She's not overly fond of him, but concedes that she's in no position to judge his actions - since she's not president nor believes she should be. From there the conversation drifted backwards towards tast and I explained how I'd recently made an idiot of myself online attempting to defend personal taste in books and writers...
As is more often than not the case in life, a piece of wisdom can come from an unexpected source, tonight CW shared this bit with me, concerning the appreciation of art:
"I don't attempt to defend my tast, particulary in art, to others or rile against someone else's tasts, tast in art is so subjective. I only comment on it if someone asks me - why I like something. I don't bother defending it. I'm not going to change their mind and they aren't going to change mine."
True. I think that's one of the reasons CW remains a close friend, even though we don't always share the same tasts, we do share a tolerance for having different tasts. She likes the more realistic oil painters, while I prefer the Impressionists. She likes Everwood, while I prefer Joan of Arcadia. She prefers Smallville, I prefer Angel. (Although I do watch both Smallville and Angel.) Tast is I think a private thing, something personal that says so much more about the individual than it does the object of art itself. Why we like what we like is not always something we ourselves understand. It can often be a gut level response. Something about what we are viewing hits an emotional place in us, calls to that place, and we respond. How we respond is bound to be different than anyone else. It does not make their response less valid or real, any more than their response makes ours less real. There's no right or wrong way to respond to a piece of art. It's a subjective thing and special thing, sacred in the very fact that it is so unique to each and every person. While sharing it is wonderful, keeping it private sometimes is wonderful as well.
On a frigid evening, ignoring a head cold, I ventured into the Met's vast expanse and hunted down my friend CW who had secreted herself within the two story book store we were meeting in. Luckily for me, she decided to poke her nose out while I stood searching the incoming crowd. Together we zig-zagged our way through rooms filled with paintings spanning every period from early medieval times to the 1900s. Pausing in front of scenic New York State and Northeastern landscapes by painters such as Thomas Church and Thomas Cole. CW is a huge fan of the Hudson River School - a group of painters specializing in semi-detailed almost photographic oil paintings of Hudson River landscapes. She comes once every three or four weeks to the museum to just wander amongst the paintings.
( a ramble on the Impressionists, specifically Degas )
( ramble on the carved wood rooms )
Finally, weary from walking for two hours, we moved to one of my favorite areas - the Egyptian tomb like structure that I can never remember the name of, housed in a huge windowed greenhouse at the northern end of the Museum. The air having a damp somewhat heavy smell of a warm climate.
We sat on stone benches and chatted about things.
Evil bosses. Taste. The President - whose mannerisms and facial expressions eerily remind CW of the evil boss. CW suggested I read the transcripts of the US President's speech - where, he apparently has some interesting things to say. She's not overly fond of him, but concedes that she's in no position to judge his actions - since she's not president nor believes she should be. From there the conversation drifted backwards towards tast and I explained how I'd recently made an idiot of myself online attempting to defend personal taste in books and writers...
As is more often than not the case in life, a piece of wisdom can come from an unexpected source, tonight CW shared this bit with me, concerning the appreciation of art:
"I don't attempt to defend my tast, particulary in art, to others or rile against someone else's tasts, tast in art is so subjective. I only comment on it if someone asks me - why I like something. I don't bother defending it. I'm not going to change their mind and they aren't going to change mine."
True. I think that's one of the reasons CW remains a close friend, even though we don't always share the same tasts, we do share a tolerance for having different tasts. She likes the more realistic oil painters, while I prefer the Impressionists. She likes Everwood, while I prefer Joan of Arcadia. She prefers Smallville, I prefer Angel. (Although I do watch both Smallville and Angel.) Tast is I think a private thing, something personal that says so much more about the individual than it does the object of art itself. Why we like what we like is not always something we ourselves understand. It can often be a gut level response. Something about what we are viewing hits an emotional place in us, calls to that place, and we respond. How we respond is bound to be different than anyone else. It does not make their response less valid or real, any more than their response makes ours less real. There's no right or wrong way to respond to a piece of art. It's a subjective thing and special thing, sacred in the very fact that it is so unique to each and every person. While sharing it is wonderful, keeping it private sometimes is wonderful as well.
