Fear me, for I am cultured

I went to a Picasso exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum where I learned a lot about life, art and their imitation of each other.

I was excited to hear that my favorite Picasso painting was going to be on display. Alas, I had gotten the titles of the pieces mixed up and instead of my favorite piece (called Old Guitarist), what was on display was his famous Man with Guitar. So, that was disappointing.


My favorite painting ever, Old Guitarist. I had a small print of this on my dorm wall when I was going to school at UW. When I left UW to return home to hawaii I gave the print to my brother (he says it's somewhere in his garage). I would sit at my desk and stare at this piece for many hours, usually while procrastinating in doing my homework.


The Scene: Sunday afternoon, cold Seattle afternoon, extra-ordinary Picasso exhibit, very crowded galleries full of yuppies, older ladies and gentlemen, art students, hipsters with tattooes, families with kids, and well dressed gay black men. Then there were the people like me, those with $23 and a desire to say, "Yes, I've seen Picassos". The gallery was noisy with people trying to be quiet.

The Point:
What is art? What is life? Which one imitates the other? does it matter? what is art? what is the meaning of this or that painting? What is the meaning of this or that life? These are the heavy, deep questions we humans have struggled with since time immemorial. And these were the questions I was pondering when I watched a little girl-child toddle up to a large Picasso painting, point up to it and say, "I can see her boobies!".

Leave it to a beautiful, naive, innocent girl-child to put everything in perspective. Because, isn't all of life and all of art, really, just about seeing the boobies?