This post is going to be about my relationship with art galleries. Art and I have a tenuous relationship, now that I am no longer in school and projects involving artistic creativity are no longer a part of my life.
My mother is an artist. She has the quintessential temperament of one when she starts on a picture and her sense of colour and aesthetics are far superior than mine. It was she who took me around a few art galleries on various occassions when I was little. I remember looking at some of the canvases that did not make sense to me back then and asking her what the picture depicted. She blithely replied that it was Modern Art, where the artist did not paint anything definitive and it was up to the viewer to interpret the piece, as they liked.
Over the years there have been fewer and fewer instances of Mother and I visiting art spaces. But then again, I have voluntarily spent hours in art galleries with friends who love art. Over my last two visits to the National Galley of Modern Art in Bangalore and Delhi, I discovered that I enjoyed myself thouroughly and my mind has stored away a few choicest installations and canvasses in a corner for happy recollection.
To sum up my experiences in art galleries, which now I seek out by my self, I have figured that art is not for us to understand. The moment I try to apply logic to art or to try and connect it with the title on the placard next to the canvas, I tend to pin it down. Instead, I like floating around a gallery looking at each picture, giving each a chance to make me ‘feel’. There continue to be paintings and murals that baffle me, some that make no sense, ones that make me marvel at colour and technique and ones that leave me with nothing at all. I have concluded that my relationship with art is based purely on mood and emotions. Evocative pieces from galleries I have been fortunate to visit on my travels around the world, continue to hold a special place in my mind and heart!