...is how long I've been waiting to see the work of Anslem Kiefer. 16 years ago a friend of mine took the picture of me seen here in front of the painting Isis and Osirus (back when you could get away with crazy shit like that).
When I was 20 years old, going to museums was like going to church. Especially the old SFMOMA. The beaux art building had beautiful light and delicate crown molding. The permanent collection took on a dignity it has never re-acheived at the new building (which, as you may have guessed, I hate). Back then, I saw the work of Anselm Kiefer for the first time in a publication that listed it as a new aquisition for the Museum. Even though it had nothing to do with what I was interested in at the time (painting fruit and trying to be the new Winslow Homer) I was struck by the reproduction and went to see the painting at the first opportunity. I was taking art classes at community college and got around to museums and galleries fairly often even though I didn't drive. I took my buddy Janet who then took this picture. I don't remember anything else about that day.
That painting changed me.
Many years of art school, art jobs, art friends, gallery this and that have stripped me of the illusions I had about being an artist 16 years ago. I'm no longer ravished by wonderment every time I step into a gallery or museum. Frankly, I'm usually depressed by what comes out these days, which made me start to lose hope. Art sustained my hope growing up in suburban hell. It got me out (if only across the Bay Bridge). I had dreams of a secret brilliant fraternity. Reality proved to be more down to earth, as it usually does.
The best legacy of these years has been making awesome talented friends, who have really sustained my hope. But I have been wondering why I'm still making art. I don't show, I don't sell. But I'm still making stuff. It sustains me. But I've been ready for a message in a bottle, some sign. Something to strive for.
Who knew I'd see it on BART last week?
Yep. A poster for Kiefer's show at the SFMOMA. My jaw actually dropped, in the first time I can ever remember.
Today I got to see the show. The only thing that would have made it more perfect was seeing it at the old MOMA.
Anyway. I'm definitely going again. Anyone with me?
1 comment:
never lose hope. you're mine. you make the fact that i do nothing with my talent tolerable. i love telling people what you do. cause no one understands and they shouldn't. art isn't a thing that can be viewed, read, bought, sold, heard, or touched. because you are art. and i am art. you just happen to spill out. thats my comment. i love you.
your bro
ff
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