Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago

When I turned in my coveted Art Institute of Chicago Museum Pass I decided to try another. This time it was the Museum of Contemporary Art. I maintain a fairly firm policy that I don't enjoy modern or "contemporary" art. I went to the museum, of course, with an open mind, ready to be surprised and delighted. Instead, I found this:

Let me just tell you that I don't get it. Sure, I could make some crap up about how I "understand" and "appreciate" this art form, and how it exemplifies the human drama, but whatev. While I was in this room, I was looking at another piece of stupid when I read more about the piece from the artist. The artist wrote, "I'm really interested in emphasizing their objectness."

Seriously? Whatev.

I did kinda think this pig art was interesting. 

But, it didn't speak to me, so I moved on. I passed this pond, which was the only thing in the entire museum that I really enjoyed.

After the pond, I did find something that spoke to me. Literally. It was these mounds of dirt.

You are obviously wondering about the dirt, so I will let you read the info:

After the dirt I found myself looking at a bunch of old dolls and stuffed animals. When I say "dolls" I don't mean hand painted porcelain dolls. I mean a dime a dozen plastic dolls.  Because I didn't understand, I read the info tag in hopes of gleaning more information. The artist, apparently, was interested in collecting things that were once highly desired but have since lost their retail value.

So... I was walking around in a room of old junk.

I desired a break from all the crazy, so I went to the restroom. You know, for resting. I walked in the door and heard this little girl squealing. After a moment I realized there was no little girl. Nope, it was another piece of contemporary art, right there in the ladies restroom.

So, if you were thinking that maybe you would record yourself making random bird calls that are unrecognizable as bird calls and call it art, well, you could make the recording, but I'm sorry to tell you it has already been done. Maybe you could make a mobile.


I recently found a passage from Lost in a Good Book by Jasper Fforde that emphasizes my human drama:

"I call it The Id Within," said the young artist in a quiet voice, avoiding everyone's gaze and  pressing his fingertips together...He continued: "Like life, my piece reflects the many different layers that cocoon and restrict us in society today. The outer layer--reflecting yet counterpoising the harsh exoskeleton we all display--is hard, thin, yet somehow brittle--but beneath this a softer layer awaits, yet of the same shape and almost the same size. As one delves deeper one finds many different shells, each smaller yet no softer than the one before. The journey is a tearful one, and when one reaches the center there is almost nothing there at all, and the similarity to the outer crust is, in a sense, illusory."

"It's an onion," I said in a loud voice. (225-226)

Now, I am rather negative, and don't care at all about the things I saw in the museum. The thing that does interest me, however, is the interest these artists had in their work. Obviously they were driven and motivated. This life work, I would assume, fulfilled them. They had a desire to fulfill, a goal to accomplish. And, seeing how it is in a museum, I'm guessing these artists received all the acclaim, the self survival, the inner peace, or the outward expression they desire. I hope.

The good news from this trip was that I found a thestral on my way home.