Columns

This week Sam McChesney took the rare step of admitting he doesn’t know too much about a topic. That topic is art. You see, your humble Editor is a still-life sort of man. He likes flowers, elaborate portraits and shit. But unless these are painted (and yes, it’s always a painting) by van Gogh or another outsider artist, they don’t really qualify. There’s only so much you can write about a pretty daisy.

Art is a pain in the arse. The difference between good and bad art is inherently subjective and prices paid by collectors are more arbitrary than any other market. I’ll admit this as someone with significant emotional investment in it. But criticisms of this fluidity are clichéd and too easily misconstrued, so let’s just leave it alone.

My own experiences with art began a fair few years ago when I was lucky enough to go on a family trip to Paris and spent the ensuing weeks alone in any museum or gallery I could find. I was probably being an angsty teenager who didn’t appreciate what I had, finding solace and escape from my family in the huge museums. This in itself is nothing spectacular – these collections are tourist destinations whether you care about art or not. But spending several days in a row at a single gallery, reading all the wall texts and admiring as much of the work as you physically can, spurs an almost accidental passion.

I wouldn’t say that simply overindulging in art in such a way leads one to understand it differently. At that stage I was just intrigued by trivialities and captivated by beauty. But my perceptions began to change near the end of high school when I started meeting people from the big, bad, frightening “art world.” It takes someone interesting and enthusiastic to pass on a passion for art. It takes someone who cares about challenging his or her own perceptions of the world every day who will encourage you to do likewise. Falling in love with art requires someone giving you a massive heave in the right direction. For me, it was completely accidental.

But once you’re on the slippery slope, a rapid descent into the sort of art that people “don’t get” is almost inevitable. Last year I bought a sculpture by Campbell Patterson that consisted simply of an empty wine bottle and some soap squashed out to look like vomit. It’s an interesting piece and adds a level of intrigue when placed next to other objects. It is also very representative of the particular artist’s themes and aesthetic. But my family genuinely thought I was trolling them, and I can’t decide whether I find that disappointing or whether it’s a hilarious joke to be shared with only a few people.

So if you’ve ever considered the art world too wanky, you’re probably right. But keep in mind that this isn’t a bad thing – you can learn what you like and get a lot of pleasure out of it.

I want to communicate here that it doesn’t take anything too remarkable to develop an interest and engagement in art. If anything, my background in art is rather unimpressive, but it now holds huge significance in my life.

This is Critic’s art issue, and this week is OUSA’s Art Week. If you’re still not convinced, at least get along to the White Night Gallery Crawl on Thursday evening. It’s incredible and should open your eyes to the wonders of Dunedin’s rich art world.

- Zane Pocock