Growing Up Artsy

This weekend my dad was in town and we had big plans to see this outdoor installation of modern art in Santa Monica called Glow. It took place all along the Santa Monica beach and was advertised as an absolutely mind-blowing, must-see art presentation. It was dumb. We left after our first two stops and went to see “Easy A”.

I’ve decided it’s difficult to have an outdoor art show in an area highly populated by homeless people. I walked by a tree with several shopping bags hanging from the branches and wasn’t sure if it was part of the show or a storage unit. Walking along the boardwalk you see people dressed in odd outfits dancing to silence every day. And you react in the normal way: by lifting your bag subtly to make sure it is as heavy as it was at the beginning of your walk, by casually veering your stride so that you are inconspicuously moving further and further away, and by looking directly forward as if your lack of eye contact makes your transition into a jog less obvious. But when you are walking the boardwalk at night during a highly anticipated art show you find yourself stopping to admire the woman dancing to silence in a bikini top and brightly colored tutu. And you think, you’re right! You’re right! We don’t need music to dance. Dancing is an art on its own. You nod and smile and continue on your way believing you have just witnessed the newest installation of modern art on Santa Monica beach.

No one ever wants to be seen not reacting to an art piece, especially at a very public venue such as Glow, you will immediately be tagged as the narrow minded, concrete thinker that “just doesn’t get it”. A shameful headshake will be thrust your way and that label will stick. Thanks to my artist mother I have had years of getting used to seeing art in the most obscure forms. I have been scolded for cleaning the molding fruit out of our refrigerator. Throwing away her newest art piece but saving our health. I have dragged her away from snatching up rusting wire from the pavement of a VERY public parking lot. Explaining we would pick it up when we were leaving the mall all the while planning an alternate route back to the car.

Both of my parents did a great job of exposing me to artwork throughout my life. ‘Exposing’ took on a quite literal meaning with my father’s addition of a life-size, fully nude sculpture of a woman in our entryway. I later named her Louise as in “geez, Louise!….. put some clothes on”. It’s difficult to explain to your 12-year-old friends that Louise is art when they insist on comparing her face to popular hosts of MTV shows. I wonder if Leonardo DaVinci had to be bothered with these comparisons as he explained art to his friends. However traumatizing at the time, each of these experiences helped me become aware to the art in my surroundings. That is why the other day, while visiting a friend’s studio; I asked if the tree trunk in the middle of the room was a seat or a project. Granted I asked as I was sitting on it, but the important thing to note is that I was aware.

In other news, I am still interning, slowly developing a path to stardom one coffee run at a time, I am taking improv classes, and I continue to successfully leave my house wearing pants without the help of roommates!!