We went to the Art Institute yesterday. We went to see the contemporary wing. The contemporary conceptualism exhibits were limp. I have seen such profoundly moving exhibits of this kind. But nothing touched me there. It was unskilled, nothingness. I felt like telling someone, contemporary life isn't nothingness. There are so many of us who are living fully, painfully, joyously, purposefully. So many people that were there too, who were undoubtedly doing the same. Looking for some thing meaningful to connect to. Being contemporary themselves. Yet wondering why they felt they needed someone to explain what they were seeing to them. All I thought was, if the image, did not stir the connection it was better off kept in the garage.
We did find the modern art galleries. Some of my favorite Pollock, Rivera, Picasso and Chagalls were missing. Hopefully, they are still there some where. I've always thought the curators for the Art Institute were not in touch with or valued the beauty of multi-cultural diversities enough to give them prominence in the museum.
I also didn't care for the mixture of furniture with some of the galleries. The flow of two-dimensional work and sculptures are harmonious but the furniture, the weight of it, was distracting.
I did like the new wing. The structure of it. The sound of it. The feel of it. Though the best views on the second floor were pretty much, outside the windows.
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