I love my fiance. He is hilarious and we have a lot of fun when we're together. I try not to take things too seriously, and he does a great job of bringing me back to earth when I do. For the most part, his inappropriate and off color remarks are a welcome distraction.
But God love him, he can really embarrass me in art museums.
Our visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art started off well enough. After our initial shock at how big the place is (we didn't even see half of its massive collection), we picked a route and started walking through. The Egyptian Wing was met with some enthusiasm, though not much. My fiance admitted he didn't know much about that period of history, but thought everything "looked pretty cool." He did enjoy The Temple of Dendur, though I suspect that had a little more to do with a scene from When Harry Met Sally being filmed there than with the temple itself. But hey, I'll take what I can get.
We quickly passed through the American Wing, and on to the Arms and Armor rooms. This was a big hit. Being the resident photographer of our trip, I was instructed to take photos every five seconds. The scrapbook I eventually make will be very gun and sword heavy. Then on the Greek and Roman Art (another quick stroll, having visited The Getty Villa together last year), and on through Arts of Africa, Oceania, and the Americas.
Then we hit a wall. A chasm in philosophy, between what is art and what isn't.
"This isn't art," my fiance said, louder than I cared for. "It's not art if I can do it!"
"It is art. The point isn't that you could do it. It's that nobody at that time was doing it."
"No, it's not art. It's just squares."
This isn't the first time we've had this discussion, and I know it won't be the last. I was an illustration major. I took more art history classes than I can count. While I may not like some Modern Art, I understand it in the context of art as a whole. It's another step in mankind's creative evolution.
We continued through the Modern Art, which brought more snarky comments from the fiance, until I finally threw in the towel. Today was not going to be the day he had a breakthrough in thinking. (Though he did love the two Chuck Close portraits on display that day.) I quickly shuttled him to the European Paintings. Van Gogh, Monet, Seurat... those he can enjoy. They're more than abstract shapes. And to be fair, I'd rather have any of them hanging on my wall than a Jackson Pollack.
I'll keep trying though. One of these days he might start to like Mark Rothko. You never know.
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