A few weeks ago, myself and my friends visited the Chelsea art galleries in New York City, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
A self-certified doodler, much of my Instagram feed is often populated with works of artists of my choosing. For example, I rejoice in the the intersection between Indian culture and visual media; still life (especially when the composition highlights a very ordinary tool in our everyday lives); in the realms that look very similar to what I might see outside my window, but different in that they are home to fantastical beasts that roam with as much confidence as pesky pigeons might; and almost any type of art that features nature in greenery. This highly curated feed pleases me in the ways that I wish to be pleased while retaining the element of surprise and innovation that art will bring to new eyes. However, an art gallery is quite the opposite. An art gallery will shock, startle, and surprise you in varying degrees of pleasantness while retaining an, albeit inconsistent, element of relatability. And it is wonderful.
There were galleries my friends and I stepped into that immediately captivated us. Pictures of familiar scenes overlaid on other scenes to render a figure altogether separate from the merged scenes had us excitedly talking while another utilized sculptures that somehow seemed to house a life within them, the same way our bodies do, had us enthralled in silent wonder. However, there were other galleries that didn’t elicit emotional reactions or seem to show technical prowess. One friend, after stepping into a gallery to investigate its potential to interest the rest of us, returned to say, “It was full of lines.” Not one to take another’s words for my own, I also investigated the gallery and felt adamant to agree. Yet I did. In this gallery, one white canvas merely contained a black line that curved a little bit. I agree, it can be difficult to draw geometric shapes on paper because it requires more patience to get the edges of the shapes clean than one might believe. But is it really enough to merit renting out a whole gallery in NYC to display geometric shapes and lines?
As I went on through more galleries picking out what I believed to be worth the time and effort to install pieces for other viewers, I came to the realization that these pieces weren’t laid out for me. This realization sank in after viewing one particular gallery which had been organized to be a sensory experience. In one dark room beyond the visiting room, viewers could step into her dimly lit workspace that had motion detectors around the room to trigger speakers which would either play some cacophony of sounds or a recording of her voice speaking. As more and more people filled the room, the room would get louder because more people would trigger more sensors. It occurred to me that we had stepped into her mind. The more people in her mind, the louder the thoughts, words, and opinions would get. The “workspace” we stepped into could be discerned to reveal that every element had been carefully placed in its spot, so as to reveal the recesses and compartments of her mind. Of course, everything had been set up so that I and the rest of the viewers could come and see what the artist ultimately wanted to display. But I was no longer standing there for myself. It was my privilege to get to know someone else’s vulnerabilities, fears, ideas, and mind.
I think a lot of the time, we as a collective are afraid of what we don’t know. So when we can’t understand someone’s art, we blame ourselves (“Oh I’m not an artist”) or the artist (“How can this piece actually mean anything?”). But to be able to view what a person can show when faced with a blank canvas, forcing oneself to reckon with one’s own vulnerabilities, fears, ideas, and mind, is a united feeling like no other. So even if it is an assortment of geometric shapes, we should bring the same enthusiasm we may bring to a child’s painting of geometric shapes. Because that person, no matter what their age might be, has braved the task of challenging themselves to putting a piece of their selves on the paper. May we not get so lost in our ability to choose which art appeals to us that we lose the beauty of this sacred element of art.
The Doodling Duck is an Opinion culture column written and created by Pooja Rajadurai to discuss art as it relates to pop culture, trends, and students.
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