Abstract and Unfathomable - Modern Art Be Thy Name!

(Pollock's art work..about commotion, anger, upheavals or something more profound?)

I have never understood art even remotely. Back in school when I got a poor 50 out of 100 in pencil sketching examination, I sulked and took my drawing to my Mom expecting some consolation and appreciative words from her. It turned out exactly the opposite.

Me: Mujhe is sketch ke sirf 50 miley 100 mein
Mom: 50 de diye??

Me: Kyun? Kam hain ya zyada?
Mom: Kam to hain..(pause)..par is sketch ke liye..

I was shattered.

It was then that I left expressing my creativity through drawings and paintings. I took to writing sarcastic pieces and ridiculing art which was my way of expressing my anguish over the world's incapability to understand my colorful interpretations with a paintbrush. The wound seemed to have healed and the 'I hate it' feeling against art had given way to a more mellowed 'Why should I care?' feeling. But Friday brought back the memories again. I had a lunch with one of my school friends Saurav and then he decided to take a revenge on me for what I can possibly make out must have been some school time tiff which I don't even remember now.

Saurav: Hey I was planning to go to the Museum of Modern Art(MoMA) on the 53rd and 6th Avenue, coming along?
Me: Dunno, I mean can't we go to the museum of sex rather than this museum?

Saurav: You pervert, shameless creature. Your mind is filled with filth. Moreover, Museum of sex mein ticket ke paise lagenge..MoMA mein IBM card holders ki free entry hai.
Me: Tum mere sacche dost ho, meri aankhein khul gayi hain aur paise bhi bach rahe hain..let's go to the MoMA.

It was a 6 storeyed building full of sulptures, photographs, modern art stuff and I for a change decided to take a more liberal stance this time and tried to go around analysing the painitings. The first one was a pile of rubble(made from wood cuts) chained to the legs of helicopters on four sides. Then there was another set of 9 paintings that was inspired from Supernova. It was followed by a series of such stuff that sent my brain in a tizzy. I didn't give up even then. I negotiated two floors and then reached the third.

We saw some art work of Pablo Picasso. One of the sculptures was that of a pregnant woman which we thought was quite crude and non-aesthetic to capture in our camera. Then there was this huge canvas that was painted Olive Green. Its description said that the painter was inspired by a garden of Olive Trees that he saw somewhere(I couldn't help remembering William Wordsworth and his Daffodils) and then decided to paint the whole canvas Olive Green..nothing else..just olive green! My patience began to give way. My drawing days came back to haunt me. I could see Mrs. Kala Singh's face in the black oil and wax paint canvas laughing like the witch from the gory tales of horror showing me the sketch that I made. I couldn't take it any longer. I rushed out. But Saurav had more evil designs.

Saurav(with an evil grin): It seems you are pretty bored!
Me: Bored - yes. I think we have had enough..thakur ab mujhe jaane de..meri jaan bakhsh de is museum se.

Saurav: Bas ek exhibition dekh lete hain
Me(thinking): Main tere se 10 din pehle same hospital mein paida hua tha..agar us waqt ye pata hota ki tu mujhe aise torture kar sakta hai to main hospital mein hi tera gala ghont deta.

The last frontier was an exhibition on post World War I art movement - DADA, not the grandfather! They said that this movement was started by artists with anti war message and stuff. I couldn't understand how dumb people like me were expected to decipher the anti war message just by watching a urinal specimen kept right in the middle of the hall!

It was finally the time to go. As I was leaving the Museum thinking that only fools could come and appreciate senseless creations being exhibited in the name of Modern Art, I saw hordes of people entering the MoMA. The queue extended quite far.

Maybe I am an 'ancient' piece who cannot relate to the sensibilities of these modern artists for whom everything is expressed in some abstract form. In retrospect, I think I should have taken up some art courses during my humanities electives back at campus to be more appreciative of art. But as of now, I think strangulating Saurav the next time I meet him would help me get over this recent trauma.

Note to the Modern Art lovers: The writer of this piece is a bit low on intelligence and a bit high on exaggeration. You can choose to ignore him as being quaint.