Friday, 23 April 2010

Modern (f)art.

Every once in a while I take a day out of my hectic schedule of oversleeping, overeating, overwatching, and underworking to do something worthwhile. Being a student often the closest I come to culture is the kind that I find growing on my half finished tin of heinz meanzest beanz in the fridge. Sometimes however I feel that since I am an Arts student I should indulge my inner Pater and go out and get all introspective, existential and nonsensical over art.

The Tate Modern seemed like a good place to start. Firstly, I knew it quite well, secondly, it was free (the piece de resistance for any "sensible" student) and thirdly, I lived in hope that there'd be something really grotesque or obscene around every corner.

Aside from the room full with the TV that had the antics of a self harmer on loop there wasn't much that caught my eye. They didn't even have that obscene video I saw on my first visit: a naked man doing ballet. I hear it was a retaliation against years of female oppression in art. Deep. But lets be honest, No one wants to watch tackle do the tango.

Modern art has always confused me a little. I enjoy its impact but rarely admire its artistry. A signed urinal, some red canvases, a poo in a box (even I could do that!).

But the other day something caught my art-eye. Mauricio Velasquez Posada is makes garments out of paper. Its like a wacky, large, wearable origami. Breathtaking, bizarre and highly flammable. The fold and spikes drown his models. They are left standing arms and legs akimbo looking like the love child of Vivienne Westwood and a paper shredder. I am not sure where the future of the pieces lie, since you could never wear them (they aren't your typical threads) and you could never display them as art (they don't hang and I'm imagining would not fit in any modest house hold). I find it difficult to see where their future is. But perhaps their transient nature is what all modern art is about: completely impracticability in favour of making the absolute statement. Or perhaps all this modern art fart has started to have a bit of an effect on my thinking......

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