I spent Thanksgiving in New York…
by Jordan Welborn
A while back, fall of last year perhaps, there was a minor societal flare-up pertaining to the artist (and we'll call him an artist for the sake of this piece) whose exhibit consisted mainly of elephant fecal matter and religious defamation. The media publicity this man received as a result of this shocking material drove thousands to the small gallery where his art was displayed and turned him into a legend, and if not quite a legend, certainly a notable personality that will no doubt pop up again.
It seems that many were offended by this man's interpretation of art, and even more were intrigued by the spectacle that was going on. So, some sat back on their couches sighing in disgust and some hopped the first train to see what was going on in person.
For me, this raised a question. What is art? I've pondered this issue quite a bit, and personal events as of late have assisted me in drawing conclusions.
I spent Thanksgiving in New York. Being my second time to visit, I ignored the typical tourist attrac-tions in favor of spending time in the city absorbing the atmosphere. What I noticed most, were the hints of beauty and art strewn throughout the harshness of the city. In the subway, standing in front of a backdrop of graffiti, there was a small man with nothing but a violin, tirelessly playing his music. The first time I passed him, I paid him no mind, as I was determined to reach my destination on time. However, having to back-track and find my way out of the terminal through a different gate, I passed by this man again. I stopped to listen and then stepped backwards to watch. This rugged man stroking his instrument amidst the craziness all around him struck me as beautiful… as art.
Also in November, I had the opportunity to spend some time in Washington DC. While I was there, I spent an afternoon perusing through the National Galleries. To be honest, I was a bit disappointed because, while there were countless rooms filled with classic and renowned art, I could find none of the Modern Art I so love and was looking forward to seeing. However, it was entirely by accident that I stumbled into an-other building that just happened to be an extension of the first. This second building housed the pieces I wished to see. Many of them had no recognizable subject matter, seeming to be simply color splashed on a canvas. And while that may or may not be true, I found a certain beauty in it. The art appealed to me.
The point I wish to make with these illustrations is simply this: Beauty and art are all around us. We must choose to see it. Art exists within our bodies, our trash, and every corner of this chaotic world we live in. But, we must open ourselves up in order to see it. And, we mustn't get upset if someone else's interpre-tation of beauty and art don't match our own (I'm referring to the elephant dung guy). For, we are all dif-ferent people with different tastes, loves, and dislikes, therefore we all see art in different places. Are the cracks in the sidewalk art? Sure, if a child can see a dragon kicking a soccer ball within it. When the dog upturns the trashcan during the night, strewing yesterdays garbage across the lawn, is that art? Sure, if one can see the resemblance to dew soaked autumn leaves. So, what about the subway peddler and the color thrown on canvas--are they examples of art? Yes, because one person (even if it is just me) sees it as something beautiful.
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