I went into a gallery recently. For the sake of ease only I’m going to call what I saw Traditional and modern.
The traditional gallery was devoid of people. Beautiful watercolours adorned the walls, little nameplates telling their stories and artist. Peaceful, energetic, stormy, hopes, lives, idyllic balmy days, all intertwined in a display that had myself, a wannabe artist, in raptures.
Across the corridor and down some steps was the modern art.
Blocks on their own in the middle of the floor. Coloured string dangling from a paper mâché lamppost. A cardboard dog cocking it’s leg against a tree.
Photos of plastic bags in trees.
Full of people umming and ahing….pretending to be modern day critics.
I stood in the doorway next to a guy spouting off about this modern message from the artist…..God knows what the art piece portrayed, or what the message was, and I quite clearly stated, as is my wont, ‘what a load of crap!’ People gasped as I then made my way out for tea and toast, into town, passing a tree with a lone plastic bag fluttering madly.
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