Nothing can beat a family date at art galleries…
Last Friday, I took my parents to the Art Gallery of Ontario, which has been glorified relatively recently by the hands of Frank Gehry, a creative mind who, according to the kind-hearted security guard, was once living a couple of blocks down the road.
I’m not an artist myself, but I can confidently call myself an art lover. I’ve been visiting hundreds and hundreds of art exhibitions around the world and each time — rambling in the high-ceiled hallways, where the collective gaze of all people is pinned to pieces from centuries ago or equally so to art nouveau — tells me beautiful tales from past times, satisfies my soul like no other, and often makes me sigh, what if I could create such beauties with my own mind.
This reminds me of a small gathering we had a few weeks ago at my friends’. After going through a decent number of wine bottles, we all decided to take the Proust questionnaire. The only think I remember is when a friend was asked: If not yourself, who would you be? His short and sweet answer of “someone more creative” never came back until a few days ago visiting the loveliness of “Sculpture As Time”, the stunning exhibit of Keifer’s Palmsonntag, and Warhol’s old black and white Liz Taylor portrait. I don’t exactly recall what my response was then, but if I take Mr. P’s quiz again, it would be something quite similar. To innovate something tangible from an idea coming out of my own imagination. Something that even in my absence attracts many eyes and moves many hearts.