the days and lives of artists

i am, by no means, an artist. let's be clear about that. i'm horrible at art. not creative. can't draw. etc. you get the idea. but i do enjoy art. i do like museums. but after this weekend, i may have to conclude that i do not like modern art.

my future sister-in-law was in town with her fellow art grad students and we all headed off to a converted plane hangar in pasadena. there was a huge show there featuring the work of all of the graduating art students in southern california. sounds cool, right? well, one of the art kids said they heard that there would be 10,000 people there. i've come to find out that art kids sometimes exaggerate.

the show was interesting. but really, who are these people kidding? okay, i don't say that in a mean way. but my main grudge against some modern art is that if i could do it, it shouldn't be hanging on a wall. period. some of my favorite pieces included the requisite black canvas, a pile of socks, four plain snapshot photographs of friends entitled 'comraderie' (no touch-ups, no effects), almost a room full of cardboard boxes with paint splashed on them, and a corner of a hallway covered in drooping silly string. that's the best they could come up with after spending 60 or 90 grand on graduate school and having year to think of a thesis project? a blank canvas with one line on it that they call "untitled"? i don't think so. at least it was free.