Salty Lemons

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

Maurizio Cattelan's "All", Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum
Manhattan, NY from my 2011 archive

February 3, 2012

Looking

Maurizio Cattelan's show at the Guggenheim is over and so is 2011. Some months seems to linger on and others fly by without notice, and January was cast into the group of the neglected. The Swede mentioned wanting to see Cattelan's show early last fall, but we didn't end up going until a bone chilling "Pay What You Wish" Saturday evening in December. I was the one who was dragging my feet, not that he needed to twist my arm to get me there, but there were other shows in the fall that had higher priority. But then I overheard, "Everything is hung from the ceiling". I typically avoid all forms of reviews, from critics, friends, or otherwise when it comes to exhibitions, movies, and books. No exceptions, not even for "Kung Fu Panda 2" which my six-year-old nephew had seen and began to reiterate once I told him I had not yet seen it. I stopped him and stressed that I didn't want to know what happens. He then proceeded to tell me everything that doesn't happen, "Po doesn't die...He doesn't"...

The Swede opens "The New Yorker" each week on its arrival in our mailbox and heads straight for the movie and art reviews. I, on the other hand, read reviews after the fact, not wanting to be subconsciously influenced by someone else's opinion. So, as I walked into the Guggenheim, I had very little expectation. I was greeted by every piece of work Maurizio Cattelan has ever made, minus one whose owner declined to lend the piece, hanging from the Guggenheim's rotunda. I immediately ditched The Swede (who kindly didn't mind being ditched while getting our tickets) and started looking. It was overwhelming, an eye full and a neck full (a reminder I need to exercise and stretch more).

We made our way up through the spiral ramps of the museum, stopping every few feet to look. Due to the massive number of works, they quickly began to cancel each other out, which forced me to look harder. I looked up, looked down, looked through, similar to the way one looks back and forth crossing the street, making sure that you haven't missed spotting an oncoming car. I didn't want to miss the details. The Swede and I debated about the meaning of the works and the exhibition as a whole. But that's the thing about art, it's subjective. Everyone sees something different and experiences things in different ways. By the time we made it to the top, my eyes were tired, and I left only remembering those works that really struck me. Just like reflecting on a year past, only those things that impact you follow you into the next year. And just like Cattelan's show, I had to weed out those insignificant events in 2011, big and small, that in the end don't belong in 2012.

archives: Art