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PAGE 8, SEPTEMBER 7, 2009, THE ISLANDER
Dave Barry
The Idiot's
Guide to Art
By Dave Barry
Whenever I write about art, I get
mail from the Serious Art Communi
ty informing me that I am a clueless
idiot. So let me begin by stipulating
that I am a clueless idiot. This is
probably why I was unable to appre
ciate a work of art I viewed recently,
titled: "Chair."
I saw "Chair" at Art Basel, a big
art show held recently on Miami
Beach. It attracted thousands of
Serious Art People, who wear mostly
black outfits and can maintain seri
ous expressions no matter what work
of art they are viewing. This is hard,
because a lot of Serious Art consists
of bizarre or startlingly unattractive
objects, or "performances," wherein
artists do something Conceptual,
such as squirt Cheez Whiz into an
orifice that has not been approved by
the Food and Drug Administration
for snack toppings.
But no matter what the art is, a
Serious Art Person will view it with
the somber expression of a radi
ologist examining X-rays of a tumor.
Whereas an amateur will eventually
give himself away by laughing; or
saying "Huh?"; or (this is the most
embarrassing) asking an art-gallery
person: "Is this wastebasket a piece
of art? Or can I put my gum wrapper
in it?"
But back to Art Basel: I didn't
go to the main show. I went to an
officially sanctioned satellite show
called "Art Positions," which was
a group of large, walk-in shipping
containers set up on the beach, serv
ing as mini art galleries. Serious Art
People drifted blackly from contain
er to container, solemnly examining
the tumors.
I managed not to say anything
stupid until I encountered a slide
projector sitting on the floor, project
ing a rectangle of white light with
twitching lens dust onto the wall. I
asked the gallery person if there was
supposed to be a slide in the projec
tor; he patiently explained that, no,
this was a work of art titled "Autofo
cus Slide Projector Dust."
In another container there was
a work of art consisting of a video,
repeated over and over, showing a
man—not in peak physical condition,
I might add—rollerblading around a
vast empty space, stark naked. I'm
proud to say I betrayed no emotion
while viewing this work, although
my daughter, who is 3, said, quite
loudly: "You can see his tushy!
Yuck!"
She is young, and has no art train
ing.
Anyway, in the corner of one con
tainer there was a ratty old collapsed
armchair— worn, dirty, leaking stuff
ing, possibly housing active vermin
colonies. I asked the gallery person if
the chair was art, and she said yes,
it was a work titled "Chair." I asked
her what role the artist had played
in creating "Chair." She said: "He
found it."
"Chair" is for sale. The price is
$2,800. Really. I looked up "Chair"
on a Serious Art Internet site, art-
critical.com, which said: "The chair
offers not a weedy patina of desue
tude but an apotheosis of its former
occupant."
See, I missed that altogether,
about the desuetude and the apothe
osis. I thought it was just a crappy
old junk chair some guy took off a
trash pile and was now trying to sell
for 2,800 clams.
I was also baffled by an artwork
called "Moonwalk," presented by a
Paris art gallery. You walked into the
gallery/container, and it was empty,
just blank white walls. Around the
ceiling were a half-dozen speakers
making a high-pitched sonar sound,
like this: "hoop." That was the art:
"hoop." Sitting outside on a folding
chair was a gallery person, smoking
Marlboros. I wondered what it would
be like to fly all the way from Paris
to Miami, only to spend four days
sitting outside an empty shipping
container going "hoop." I would go
insane. I would have an apotheosis
of freaking desuetude.
In another container, there was a
work that consisted of a hole drilled
in the floor, and some weeds stuck
in it. I believe the price on that was
$6,000. While I was examining it, I
heard one Serious Art Person say to
another (I swear): "Wouldn't that be
wonderful in the foyer?"
I want to state, for the record,
that there was also some very nice-
looking art on display. And I want to
repeat that I am a clueless idiot. So
you Serious Art People don't need to
write letters reminding me. I agree
that you know MUCH more about art
than I do, OK?
So YOU buy the chair.
This classic DAVE BARRY column
was originally published Jan. 18,
2004.
(C) 2009 The Miami Herald. Dist.
by Tribune Media Services.
Dave Barry is a humor columnist
for the Miami Herald. Write to him
do Tropic Magazine, The Miami
Herald, One Herald Plaza, Miami FL
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