I am decidedly partial to less- realistic images (20th century stuff…take your pick). I think it’s because I like to have creative input. I thrill at the cutouts dancing in Matisse’s painting, because it’s a team effort, he and I. He supplies the feeling and leaves the rest up to me… as if he couldn’t have imagined better faces than I could ever conjure up.
But I’m no fool. I know it is his art that is beyond spectacular… his decision to create the work and his decision to say, “it’s done”. All I really know is that while I totally appreciate a Rembrandt portrait, I thrill over Rothko color blocks and harsh Franz Kline black and whites.
Now, I’m not blind to those who giggle at the absurdity of paint splattered about a canvas “like my frickin’ kid could do better”, and in truth, I have giggled at an artsy-fartsy poser or two in my time. I promise I’m not one of them. I just loves me some squiggles.
Oddly, when I am drawn to literal images it usually has to do with the intention of the piece, like the humor of Magritte. Go figure. I like abstract art for its beauty and classic images for the statement being made by the artist. I guess I’m a contradiction that way (It’s a blessing and a curse).
But of course, no matter what you think of my taste, at the end of the day, art is a wickedly personal, and clearly a subjective subject, so we can debate, but I’m still going to love my squiggles.