Museum 3
With Dali’s ‘Autumnal Cannibalism’ already permanently etched to the surface of our minds, Lauren and I meandered around the remaining seven rooms of Tate Modern’s surrealist exhibit, allowing the image to seep beneath the surface and hoping earnestly that another painting might captivate our minds in the way Dali’s had. The multiplicity of subjects, the seamless flow of one human body into another, the indiscernability of the human subject and its permeating landscape boggled my mind and inspired my heart. What other painting could possibly infect me with simultaneous desire and repulsion the way this one had? Even with all of my love for the painting, the act of looking at it for more than a few seconds at a time gave me a headache. We moved on to the rest of the exhibit after a couple of minutes; Dali’s painting still weighting heavily on our minds. As I scuttled about The Tate Modern’s third floor, I attempted to discern what exactly I liked about the painting. I realized I’d seen the placard which read ‘Salvador Dali, Autumnal Cannibalism’ before I’d even glanced at the painting itself. I’ve been an unapologetic Dali for years. Is it possible that I was determined to love the painting before I’d even seen it, based solely on the fact I knew it was a work done by Dali?
We approached a painting several minutes later and instantly began listing off its Chagall-like features—the eroticism, the presence of wildlife, the manipulation of a completely non-realist perspective, its foregrounding of a highly detailed human form with less distinguished animals in the periphery. Lauren and I began to vocalize our adoration of the work and its Chagall-ness. Our diatribe went on and on without us even thinking to look at the adjacent placard to see who the painting was by. It was of course, a Chagall. We burst out in a simultaneous bout of laughter; even with lengthy conversation about how this painting looked like a Chagall, the actual idea that it was a Chagall hadn’t occurred to either of us. I still laugh thinking about it, but I’ve also come to some realizations about my own spectatorship. I’m so incredibly interested in biography and have always found it impossible (and undesirable) to detach art from the individual artist. I’ve always looked at an artist’s collection as a type of biography. Looking back upon our recent class discussions of ‘Dorian Gray’, how could I not look at art in this way? Even though I am completely devoid of confidence in my own ability to interpret visual works, I understand the value and importance in being able to do a simple close reading of a painting or a sculpture, regardless of the artist responsible for its creation. Without trying to sound too self-congratulatory, I suppose this moment of Chagall (un)recognition showed that I am capable of looking at art in such a manner, and I’m quite excited that I was able to do so. I don’t know how, exactly, I might go about repeating the process, but I’m more excited than ever about closely examining visual culture inside and outside of museums.
posted by PatrickMcKelvey @ 12:59 PM
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