From impressionism to pointilism to my three-year-old grandboy’s stick figures with appendage-sprouting-heads, I love the outward expression of other peoples’ internal creativity.
An old friend and I once had a big argument, though, about whether or not an objective definition of good art exists. I said no. He said yes. We’d just been to the Van Gogh Museum and he used the exhibit as evidence of a quantifiable measure of talent. I refuted this by saying there were only two paintings in the whole building that I would want in my living room. Everything else was too bleak.
We ended up agreeing to disagree.
(He was wrong.)
Granted, I did doze through my one art appreciation class (dim lights and overheated auditorium resulted in large-group naps) but I do know what makes me happy.
And to me that’s as decent a definition of good art as any.
Here are some fun outside installations I get to see whenever I leave home.
There is great art everywhere. And space for all of it. Except for clown art, of course. There’s no room for that.
ps Here’s one more.
