Navigating the Museum

I have once again done what I told myself I would stop doing: I've procrastinated on my blogs. That does not mean, however, that I do not have anything to blog about. The semester has rolled on at its typically rapid pace and, just as typically, there have been a multitude of experiences that have impacted me. At least for now, I will focus on one.

Art has always been interesting to me. In fact, I gave my mom a print of my favorite painting, "Paris Street Rainy Day" for Christmas. I took Art History my sophomore year of high school and thoroughly enjoyed going through over 2000 years worth of different styles, modes, and influences of art. I visited the Museum of Modern Art in New York with my sister just a few months later and (though some modern art can be rather questionable in terms of the word "art") I liked perusing the museum and discovering and analyzing the different pieces.

All of this to say, when I found out our class was going to see an art exhibit, I became abnormally excited. I looked forward to the trip for several weeks as not only a break from normal, classroom class, but also as a way to get reacquainted with "Oil on Canvas" and "Stencil" and "Sculpture" and other mediums of art.

When I walked into the "Navigating the West: George Caleb Bingham and the River," I didn't really know what to expect, other than a collection of paintings heavily featuring natural running water. What I discovered, then, fascinated me. I found detailed, lifelike paintings of everyday people. I found subtle and overt usage of rivers. I found an intriguing and unique style of duplicating characters so that the same person could appear in many paintings, almost like different photographs taken at different times, in different locales. I found joviality, somberness, and everything in between. I found card playing, talking, dancing, drinking, rowing, working, thinking, sitting, standing, kneeling, laying.

Yet, most importantly, I found a renewed excitement about art. I would catch myself analyzing how Bingham painted the folds in a shirt, or how he utilized chairscuro ("the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting"; I've been waiting to use that term since I was 16), or merely staring in awe at how talented one can be with a pencil, a brush, and a canvas.

I exited the Bingham section of the museum and wandered briefly among the other, permanent works.  There was a wide variance in topic, from angelic statues to Prairie Native American paintings. There was also a sort of modern reverence for art permeating from every corner and canvas. The workers of the museum were eager to engage about the art that they likely stare at for hours per day, yet somehow never tire of. The museum was spotless, well-organized, vibrant but subtle, and a wonderful refresher for me as to how liberating art can be.

We were greeted with a beautiful view of the Fort Worth skyline as we walked out of the museum and down its front steps. It was then that I had one of those cheesy "art is like nature, but nature itself is also art" moments. I'll admit it's cheesy, but it is also true, and it especially was in that moment. After observing representations of reality for about an hour, it was perfect to see reality representing itself in such a serene way. Again, cheesy? yes. True? absolutely.

I hope to visit another museum soon. I have never been to the Kimbell, but I have frequently been informed that it is a must-see. After being reinstated into the world of loving art, I have a craving for more. Who knows, maybe I'll find another favorite painting to gift to my mom next Christmas.