Up until I was twenty-something, I thought only the classical stuff was truly art--Van Gogh, Rodin, Monet and so on. I squinted my eyes and turned my nose up at modern art--art I did not understand.
(Oh! How I wish the days of Rodin were back with us. How well I would fit in!)
But (years ago) when I took a class about teaching art (as I studied to become a teacher), everything changed. After looking at a painting that had some blue, red and yellow rectangles and squares scattered across the white canvas (which I scoffed at), we were given the same shapes and instructed to create a "painting." Thinking it could be done in an instant, it surprised me how long it took for me to arrange them in a way that satisfied me... how many times I arranged and rearranged the pieces.
(The purpose of the class was to prepare me if I ever had to teach every subject--including art. I also had to take a "teaching music" class and thankfully--for everyone's ears' sake--I have never had to teach a music class. Sioux and singing do not go together harmoniously.)
Since then, I've done some activities at our local art museum that have totally made me rethink what art is exactly. When you look at a piece of art in a unique way or with a closer lens, it's transforming...
I'm a bit snooty when it comes to books and writing as well. There are genres I steer clear of (like romance) and yet, when Lisa Ricard Claro's romance books hit the bookstores, I will be in line to read them. Will her writing transform me into a rabid romance fan? Probably not, but the novels most likely will make me a more frothing-at-the-mouth Lisa Ricard Claro fan.
On Saturday, I'm going to a writing marathon at Laumeier Sculpture Park. I trust that the art will be inspiring (or at least encouraging). On Monday I'll share some photos, along with (hopefully) a limerick or two. You see, one of my favorite activities--when getting together with writers over lunch or dinner--is writing round-robin limericks. Each person gets a paper beverage napkin, they write a first line to a limerick and then everyone passes to the right (or the left--if you're the facilitator, be self-centered and eye the table up, making your decision carefully, based on whose line you'd most like to get). Each napkin gets passed four times and then when all the limericks are finished, they're read aloud.
Here are a few photos from the park:
Do you turn your nose up at certain types of art or certain genres of books? Do you have a limerick you'd like to share? Do you have to eat your words often, like I do?
