Art

Inspirational song: Pictures at an Exhibition (Modest Mussorgsky)

My friend has a three year old daughter who fascinates me. I've known her for right around two years, so almost two thirds of her life. I am amazed anew every time I see her. She is absolutely brilliant, and she has been raised with economic advantages my own children were denied back when we were skating along the poverty line. To paint this picture fully, let me put it this way: at three years old, she is the youngest student in her French immersion preschool, but she is picking up the language faster than all the other kids. Her latest cute child trick is to pose like her current hero, Minnie Mouse, and judging from the photos I have seen, she nails it. I love thinking about how a young person's sense of self develops. Each time I see her, she seems twice as complex as when I saw her last.

Flipping through the Internet today, I saw an image of a baroque painting of a woman. She was dressed in a diaphanous Roman gown, and slouched gracefully against a column. I started thinking about artistic composition, in relation to real life. How does my life compare to a pastoral scene? Am I creating an artistic vignette when I recline on the couch with a cat or two draped over me? Is my little three year old buddy doing the same when she assumes a Minnie Mouse pose in front of a similarly shaped topiary in the magic kingdom? Is it sad that I think of these kinds of things when I am stone cold sober? I often feel guilty when I am still. I would like to imagine I would feel more at peace with my idleness if I try to dress romantically, pose gracefully, and wait for an artist to come along and capture my still life.

My stepfather's art went live on Ugallery today. Included in his listing is one of the abstracts I have in the front room of my house (what I refer to as my piano bar). And my mother said there is someone expressing interest for another abstract I keep in there, one I really love. I dread the day I have to give them up, but I have known all along they weren't mine to keep. I can rearrange the art in the house to cover up the blank walls, but I will miss those works of art I was allowed to foster.