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 Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 9:00 pm
She didn't remember who had convinced her to come to this art exhibit tonight but she was sure someone had. A co-worker? Harmony, who was strangely absent. This was by far more her thing than Kyndall's. Kyndall preferred theatre and actual performance as opposed to haphazard geometric shapes piled together and called art. Those that pretended to be in the know said these monstrocities symbolized everything from the oppressive patriarchal regime facing women to the effect of apartheid on West Africa years after its end. Sad. Unbearably pathetic.
She was leaning against the wall in a black dress. She knew enough to dress up for the crowd. The posh set of Destiny City seemed to have her standards for aesthetics. Some took the look your best ideal to heart while others, pretentious bastards, tried to be avant-garde in the their choice of clothing. Most of it just came off as bad and the older drama teacher had no reservations about making fun of these posers.
She spotted him across the room, as plain a look of distaste on his lips as on her own. He was obviously younger than she. She'd seen enough children to know school age when she saw it. She approached, smiling to herself.
He looked refined enough, coat and cuffs perfect down to the detail. She assumed him from a wealthy family in town but couldn't name which blood line off the top of her head. She picked up a glass of champagne on the way and took a sip, coming to stand by his side quietly for a moment.
"You don't look like you belong here." She paused and eyed him up close. "What I mean to say is that you look about as bored by this pretentious crowd as I am. Who decided this rubbish was art to begin with, hmm?"
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Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 9:29 pm
Another of those deliriously boring, and blood boiling, art exhibits at another gallery. How he'd tried to wiggle out of going, he'd nearly begged his mother, but nothing had worked. He'd offered to cook dinner, for several nights, offered to work on some facial mask for her. Not a single thing had worked. He'd had hope, up until he'd been ordered into a suit and proper shoes.
At least the clothing was cut to fit nicely and the shoes were comfortable, thanks to the nice gel insoles he had in them. Other wise they weren't quite so comfortable. The shirt under the suit was a simple silk button up, of a color to match his eyes, the pants gave enough room and yet were fitted where they needed to be. As nice as he looked he stood like some statue in a corner where a high bar table stood. A glass of water in front of him.
Since arriving he'd been biting his tongue, both figuratively and literally. The fact this stuff, hanging on the walls, was called art was blasphemous. Whoever had decided this...simple compiling of work was considered art was something hard to believe. And yet he knew people considered it art. In between people approaching to greet him, and ask him about school, he'd heard people making all manner of insights when looking at the canvas's on display.
Really the Negaverse Lieutenant wanted to step into the bathroom, change, and come out in order to drain as many people as he could. Not only would it end his suffering but it would put an end to the insanity. It was a good idea, but by the time he could drain a few people there would surely be pandemonium. So he refrained and stood still and watched, listened. So caught up in this was he that he almost missed the person approaching. If not for the stand out green hair he would have missed her.
"The artist, and perhaps those pandering for his favor. I can't be sure if they really consider it art or are simply good at...pandering." a** kissing was the word he meant to say but refrained from doing so, it simply wasn't proper. Lifting the small glass of ice water, he was far too young to drink, and took a sip of the cold liquid. "As for whoever decided this." Motioning around them, a small but graceful gesture. "constitutes as art, has never actually seen art." There was something in his tone of voice that said he was better than whoever that person was.
"And what of yourself, seeing as it seems this isn't to your taste?"
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Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 9:50 pm
"I was roped into this same as you were, I suspect."
Which was both true and untrue. She'd allowed herself to be roped into it but she hadn't known what sort of art exhibit it was until she'd arrived and by then it would have been considered rude to leave early. It would have made a statement, that was for sure, but she was much too involved in the art world in all its forms in Destiny City to want to be shunned by them for this little lapse in judgment. It simply wasn't worth it to her.
She watched as a man in a black suit stared at one of the paintings on the wall. A black blob slowly dissolving into red and gray with chicken feathers tacked on for good measure. She leaned forward a bit, close enough to ear shot, and caught him declaring the piece a brilliant take on the suffering of the American people in a crisis.
She covered her mouth to stifle the laughter that rose up from her chest. She didn't do it well enough that her new companion wouldn't notice but she hoped no one else would. She agreed with his point of view. She wasn't an art expert by any means. Her expertise lay elsewhere. But she knew what she liked and what was awful and this lay firmly in the latter category.
"Give me Monet anytime. At least his messes served a better aesthetic purpose."
She knew the basics, anyway. She held out a hand, brushing her long green hair back over her shoulder. It was the civilized thing to do to introduce herself anyway. Surely there was no harm in two people sharing a common opinion. Perhaps it wouldn't look right from the outside with all the modern talk of cougars and such but she had no intentions like that. She was a lady, after all.
"My name is Kyndall Rosen. And you are?"
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Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 10:06 pm
"Indeed, though I doubt by the same people." He spoke, slate colored eyes roving about the gathered people, searching. He didn't see them, not yet. He knewthey hadn't left though, they knew by now that he tended to corners at the events where the art wasn't to his liking. Other events he, where the art was of....quality he would be moving about.
She wasn't the only one to hear or see the man. A smile broke out, laughter evident in his eyes and the small shaking of his slender form. Oh, if that painting was brilliant what could you say about the comedy of the man proclaiming it brilliant?! For a moment he had considered banging his head on the table he rested against lightly, but that would hurt and he wasn't into hurting himself. Not to mention it would make a scene and he'd be expected to explain his action. The thought was fleeting though, like a wind blowing a feather away so too was the thought blown away. Instead he found the man's reaction utterly laughable and foolish.
"That or a Rembrandt, or Van Gogh. Any of the masters. Their use of canvas space is superb." Their painting was actually artistic and meaningful, there was something there and it wasn't wasted paint.
A second sip of water and the glass was set down. His hand, having just set the glass down, was raised and grasped her offered one. "Alexandre Evans." No rich blood line to be had, just one of the top lawyers in the city for a mother. So perhaps a name known to her, perhaps not. Ignoring the people agreeing with the man's earlier proclamation, only giving it a roll of his eyes. They could have easily said it spoke to the suffering of American poultry, but no...something even less likely.
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Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 10:56 pm
"You have taste." she conceded. "Impressionism is one of my favorite periods in art. Starry Night makes me cry nearly every time I see it. Flawless composition. The coloring and texture is brilliant."
She had a print of the piece in her bedroom, hanging over her bed. Her single bed. If anyone wanted to label Kyndall an optimist they'd be sorely mistaken. She was a realist in the worst way, used to logic over anything else and more comfortable with knowing the norm than trying to guess what would happen next in the unknown.
Of course, in a room full of art critics and sycophants of the artistic community, only she and Alexandre were speaking of real art and not the drivel that passed for it these days. Smart kid. She'd have been surprised to learn he was from the negaverse if she A. learned what the negaverse was and B. got over the initial shock that the world around her was not as she always suspected. Those were two very large ifs and she should be glad to be without the need for them at the moment.
"I suppose it follows the adage here. Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken. So splashing paint on a canvas cannot always make you an artist."
Of course she's heard of his mother! Who hadn't? In those few times she was desperate enough to believe Harmony might actually make good on one of her threats about illegal activity she needed to be prepared. His mother was, by all accounts, the best. She could respect that about her - making her way in her field as she had. Brought out her own latent fears about inadequacy.
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Posted: Sun Sep 18, 2011 11:10 pm
"Starry Night is a personal favorite, though I do also favor the Rennisance painters." He stated, giving something of a smile. He'd once been told. by an art teacher of his, that it was rare. She had more people favor more modern art. Honestly it wasn't his cup of tea though. "Which Starry Night though? Personally I prefer the one over the water to the other one by Van Gogh."
He wanted to laugh at her next words, and he did. It was soft, a hand raised to cover it up. "Yes, nor can the paint splattered canvas be called art. Though I don't believe if you told these people that they'd believe you. Somehow, I can't fathom how, they see this as art. Really isn't a sad attempt at art, unfortunately someone forgot to inform the supposed artist that a toddler could do this. In fact I'm under the impression a dog could manage this, should someone attach a brush to it's tail and dip it's paws in to point."
His mother was one of those who was passionate and in love with her job, how many people could claim to love their job? She brought important cases home to work on, sent countless hours in her office at home locked up working, often times he'd have to order food or cook him self. Their were nights he'd have to order food for himself and his father, because she was still at the law firm working on something. She was loyal to her clients, it was what kept them with the firm and with her.
"I saw something once on tv, late in the evening. It was about an elephant which could paint, the paintings looked similar to these, minus the feathers. I believe the elephant had better taste." He spoke, lowering his voice as he said this. It was true, an elephant trained to hold a brush and paint. There was no difference between those paintings and what was hung on these walls. How interesting, to compare this painter to an elephant. He had noted she seemed to know who his mother was, most people in this room knew his mother.
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 12:07 am
"I'm afraid I'm partial to Van Gogh's painting myself. It's such a vibrant piece it always makes me happy to see it."
She sipped at her champagne and smiled, turning her back to the part of the room they'd been studying to get a look at the other side. The artist's name tonight was something awful...Warhitz? She couldn't recall though she knew exactly where he was by the crowd gathered around him. A bunch of douchy people with ridiculous haircuts and clothes they threw together because they wanted to look cool.
Why hadn't she opted to leave early again? Oh, yeah.
"At least with the elephant it was an actual expression of chaos. It only has animalistic sensibilities to drive it and not human aesthetics."
Come to think of it she'd seen something similar. Maybe on youtube. Sort of like the gorilla that learned sign language. Animals were really quite intelligent and less brutal than humans. There was another article she read about a machine they'd programmed to paint, supplying a canvas and colors and it chose when to begin and when to end in a random sequence of colors in between. Amazing stuff. Really incredible.
Wow! This kid was pretty neat. And smart. She found the longer she was in the conversation with him the more she actually found herself enjoying it. She casually looked him over, taking in more than just what was on the outside. He was impeccably groomed but someone didn't develop this kind of passion without having some personal connection to the subject.
"So what sort of artist are you? Sculptor? Or do you paint?"
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 10:46 am
"Van Gogh has two paintings both named Starry Night."
Another covered laugh from the teenager. This evening was turning out far less boring, dull, than he'd first thought it would be. It was pleasing to say the least. Someone to talk to and someone who realized just what they were being subjected to here.
"That's true, though I'm sure these critics would find something deeper meaning. I doubt a single one of them would realize an elephant painted the canvas, and wouldn't believe it if they were told." He stated, something of a sneer coming across his face, pale eyes taking in the artist himself, and his flock of mindless sheep.
He hadn't a clue on the gorilla much less the machine, had she mentioned either he'd have said as much but also voices fascination with the machine idea but also displeasure. It was fascinating, to be sure, but also it took away a certain necessary human quality. He'd also have gone home tonight and looked it up, just to learn whatever he could about it. But, she didn't mention it. Instead she seemed to be looking him over, right before she questioned him. It wasn't an unexpected question either, he'd sort of been waiting for it.
"I paint, water colors. I work on landscapes. I find they give a certain freedom and that everyone can get something from them." From an inside pocket he withdrew one of those lovely smart phones and with some quick typing he had up a picture of both Van Gogh Starry Nights. Though the second has the full title of Starr Night over the Rhone. I do apologize if the shortening of the name confused you before."((Both paintings: X and X))
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 11:09 am
"I prefer the first. It's whimsical feeling to me. And that moon! I can see why Tim Burton drew inspiration from him."
Kyndall mostly loved Tim Burton as a filmmaker. His aesthetic was such that anyone could pick it out and no one could dare try to match it. It was, exclusively, the Tim Burton look. But that was relating art to something she knew more about - acting and film making. Art was not her expertise.
She smiled and appreciated the second painting as much as the first imagining a quiet night in a gondola in Venice, though, and not on the Rhone. She knew Venice was falling to pieces but it was still the romantic city on the water. Some romantic notions could not be extracted from her.
So he was a painter. She'd suspected as much. Then he might be the person to ask. It was a new question that was bubbling in her head ever since she saw that video about the machine. It was something new and exciting for her. She'd puzzled over it for a while herself, wondering what to make of this machine. It made endeavors like this seem a little more honest but why? Was the art the machine creates false, somehow?
"There's this machine that can be programmed with algorithms that dictate when it begins and when it ends as well as the sequence in between. It chooses what lines to paint, what sort of tools to use. It has a ton of fully prehensile arms. Even what colors it wants. That begs the question, then, is it art? And if it is: who is the artist? The creator of the initial programming? The machine? No one? Or is it chance at its purest form?"
Ok...she'd never get away from being a teacher. Ever. But she honestly wanted to hear his opinion on the matter.
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 12:44 pm
"I can see that as well. I do prefer the second, personally. I find the water to be what draws me in the painting. But both are lovely. The first I agree, is whimsical. The second I find romantic." Somehow he thought of night strolls on a cobble stone side walk, right by the water, when he saw it. Something relaxing and romantic. It was just how he thought.
"I don't know much on Tim Burton, I'll admit this. But I have seen The Nightmare Before Christmas. And the sheer genius in it, the emotions and the ideas in it. They were touching and deep." Just the idea of wanting to be what you weren't, to experience what wasn't the norm and to bring it to others as well. The sorrow over being seen in only one way. Those were just some of the things he got from the movie.
Startled by the question, not to mention the idea of a machine painting. He took a slow sip of his water. Puzzling this over. At first he felt surprise but that gave way to thought and sadness and then he finally spoke.
"I don't think you can credit any artist. The programmer programed it, but only to paint, he didn't program it to paint anything specific. The machine doesn't have the same creativity or feelings of a person, so I don't think we can credit the machine. It's doing as programed and arbitrarily picking and choosing what colors to use and what to paint and where." Trailing off as he let himself think again, to acknowledge his feelings and emotions about this topic. It was an odd one really, no way was it not odd.
"I know it is art, whatever this machine creates, but there is something vital I think missing. I don't think art created by a machine can contain the emotions a painter puts into their art. So perhaps it would be...hallow. I just don't see it as capturing the feel, the essence, of the subject being painted. Something a person can capture and put paint to. Does that make sense, and answer the question?" He asked, pale eyes meeting the others violet eyes. he didn't know he was speaking to a teacher or someone who worked in the art. So he didn't know if it would make sense.
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 5:54 pm
"If an artist can't be named then how can be it art? The goal of the artist is to capture something in their piece, right? To create a visual expression of something specific. Without a soul can you achieve this?"
This was one of those subjects where nothing was right or wrong and nothing was off limits. The way he spoke was good. She wasn't trying to play devil's advocate. She was simply trying to make him think, to create the pinpoints in his own head. She, unfortunately, was a teacher and bound to these types of things with students. Especially when she thought they could do well with it.
She opened up another path of thought.
"Or, if beauty is in the eye of the beholder as it's suggested and the person beholding the painting finds the meaning for themselves does that make it art even if the beholder isn't getting what the machine intended? Is art then for the artist or for the beholder. Perhaps both? Perhaps neither?"
She was getting into heavier philosophy now but somehow thought he could keep up. Or, at the very least, offer a decent opinion on the subject. Yes. Art was one of her favorite subjects for debate simply because it was a series of endlessly circular logic. No matter which way you chose.
This was certainly not the bleak night it started off being and they hadn't even gotten to making fun of how some people were dressed yet.
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 10:29 pm
"That is true, though like the Elephant. Can you name that as the artist of a painting? She would answer to any name you called her, so how do you list an artist for a painting by an entity that can go by nearly any name?"
Circular logic was not something he liked, not really, he saw it used too many times to religious people. It seemed to be the only way they thought, or to end it all they simply stamped the word faith and everything ended. No argument to be had.
"Can the machine understand beauty? It's not human, does it have the emotional capability that people do for when we see and realize something is beautiful? If not than what does it go by to determine that which it is clueless about? What someone has told it to see as beauty? Or the opinion of the majority of people?" More and more he was wondering about this woman talking to him. She was smart, made him think and work for things. She wasn't like most people. He liked this, she was better than the idiots in this room who spoke politics, which he knew a lot about, and ignored him.
"I think art should be something that everyone can gain something from, can understand something about. A general feeling and emotion. They can get some meaning. I think a child and an elderly person should both be able to look at something and both gain something and be able to impart their opinion and feelings upon the other. So I don't think everyone has to gain the same thing...but everyone should be able to get something. Art should be universal in ability to feel and understand, to take something from it." Perhaps kid friendly was a good term, or viewer friendly.
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Posted: Fri Sep 23, 2011 4:47 pm
"So we've finally come to your definition of art." she responded approvingly, as if she'd been waiting for that all along. It was a fair definition but there still seemed to be some discrepancy as to what should or could be called an artist and what couldn't. The way he described it, anything could be deemed art so long as people could look at it and gain spiritual or emotional depth. She was still enjoying herself completely, making him think and watching the way he handled her logic.
"Does something have to be sentient, then, to be considered an artist? Do they have to consciously try to create art? What of nature itself? It has no awareness yet it creates art naturally all the time. Can it not be said to be the artist though it cannot answer by name?"
He surprised her when he started handing her questions of his own, questions she had to think about for a long while before she could answer. He was good, pointing out the flaws in her logic to give way to his own. It was a bit subversive for a debate tactic but people did use it and it was a successful skill to have.
"The majority of the people in this room would say the art in here is beautiful and meaningful. We two disagree. Does this mean our opinion doesn't count or that we should reconsider what it beautiful to coincide with the majority? Where does the line end? Because the majority believes in it does that make Mr. Warhitz there an artist?"
Now she was getting personal, working toward his own opinions and challenging them in the same way she'd challenge anything else. Some people would change their thoughts to conform to the point. Some would dismiss it entirely. She was curious to see what type of boy he was, and how he adapted to tough mental situations.
Surprisingly, she had faith in him and though she didn't realize it people were beginning to silently note their conversation and listen to what was being said.
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Posted: Fri Sep 23, 2011 6:13 pm
"With nature it depends on your view of nature." He said, without missing a tick. She was really testing him, pushing him to think and consider. It was a challenge he liked, but it wouldn't say this; at least not right now. He might once she was done pushing him to his limits.
"If you look at the Japanese they believe everything has a spirit. And if a spirit is had can something be considered sentient? If not do we look at the fact plants and nature does live and die? A machine doesn't die in the same sense, it can be dismantled, rebuilt, fixed, become something new...a new machine I mean." He spoke trying to get his thoughts out as they came, giving no time to ponder them right now. He found them coming easy to him as he spoke.
"For a name to the artist perhaps just creator, as something did create it. Weather it be some deity or multiple deities, or whatever other idea there is out there. Or label each thing by it's name, as the artist?" He questioned while finishing his water and looking around for whoever might be walking around with more glasses of water, and could take his empty glass.
If the way he spoke was some skill it wasn't something he relived. It was just logic and how his mind worked, a simple pointing out of how he saw things. He didn't think of it as a debate tactic. He'd never done debating, at least not under that heading.
"Why let our opinion mean less than someone elses? It's our opinion and our personal taste, it means something to us, does it matter what it means to other people? Or should we submit everything we think to another persons opinion? Because really many things, if not everything, in this world is opinion based. Is it not truth that truth, by definition is the majority accepted opinion? So while they believe it to be art, and many do, it doesn't mean it's the absolute truth, because truth is only a majority opinion. Not to mention why should I drop down to a lower level of knowledge, where I go by what other people tell me as opposed to what I know on my own." He spoke slowly now, thinking over his words once more. He seemed to go between blurting out his thoughts and thinking slower.
"In truth it would make him an artist, but that does not mean everyone must think him an artist. So no, he is not an artist and yet he is. To them he is, in truth he is. But to me and you he is not." He spoke while weighing his words as they left his mouth.
He hadn't noticed people listening and watching. Maybe if he did he'd be surprised by it. But he was clueless as his thoughts shifted about his mind and were given voice. He was glad, right now more than ever, that he'd bought a load of books and was reading them; though slowly. He'd been reading through books at lunch, and whenever he could during class. He was trying to find time to read and enlighten himself further. He needed to learn more, to understand things deeper, he'd decided this was important. It was just as important as the doing away with allowing mysteries to be left in his mind, to be content and happy with them and even to take joy in pondering the mysteries out there. He needed answers now, not mysteries, and he needed to understand things, to think of new ways to view things.
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Posted: Sun Sep 25, 2011 7:59 pm
"But just because something is believed to have a spirit doesn't mean it has the sentience to recognize beauty or art. A flower that blooms is not aware that it is beautiful. It blossoms because it was created to without thinking about the how or the why."
She sat back and listened to his explanation with half an ear, paying a little attention to those around them pretending not to be eavesdropping on every word they said. Some people, the bolder ones, seemed to agree with them on certain points. The main ones revolving the artist at whose show they were attendant. Some shook their heads and disagreed, saying the two of them were disrupting a very successful show. Kyndall simply found it amusing that so many people who spent their time kissing the a** of the artist would not change their minds in the presence of people with minds of their own and well formed opinions.
"I think the main thing to remember is that opinion isn't always truth. Opinion is subjective to the person forming it and there is no universal definition when it comes to art or taste."
She smiled a little, finally letting the subject fall to silence. They'd exhausted it as much as they could without stressing the same points and not gaining any ground. She respected this kid for being able to hold his own even with her playing devil's advocate and trying to put holes in his logic. He was smart and clearly those smarts were being put to good use and encouraged.
"You're a good student, Alexandre. I'm impressed. I think you'll go quite far someday. I'd love it if you showed me some of your work sometime."
The crowd was slowly breaking up around the artist and though she didn't know how much time had passed she suspected more time passed in her pleasurable debate with him than while she stood off by herself contemplating the hideous artwork of the artist. Either way, the show seemed to be winding down with some of the pieces sold off for ridiculous prices. The others would be held in waiting until the next show. Kyndall didn't plan on attending that particular function. Though, now she might be convinced if she'd have the same sort of fascinating company she had tonight.
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