I don’t usually make a text post about much except for my hatred of white supremacy solely because no one actually reads anything from my blog but I thought I should begin writing about something that I actually care about besides myself. So check this out.
This is probably my first time going to an art museum here in Canada (I’m sure I’ve been to one in Illinois when I was a baby) I can’t say I hated it cause it was very VERY beautiful. I just couldn’t fathom why there was this idiot boy in my class who comes to the art museum, asks me if I like art (AS I’M DRAWING the ones I like) and then proceeds to tell me that he hates art….WHY DID YOU COME? Obviously to skip class and complain. Anyway, I did find that my favourite pieces had to be
Horn Players (1983)
Black Soap (1981) (I love this, it showed “whitewashing” in a different light)
Self-Portrait (1981 or 1983 I think) (I might want to do something like this one day)
Going back to the experience, I had to say there was a lot to it even though we didn’t get to stay long. I would’ve appreciated it immensely so that I could really sit down and take the time to actually draw all the pieces I enjoyed but there was also this group…LEMME tell you how much I hate tour groups in an Art museum.
There I was trying to stunt like I knew my shit about art and how much I actually appreciate it. I had my earphones in listening to D’Angelo, my black-everything on, my hair pulled back and all these tour groups just kept coming through. I couldn’t just sit and enjoy the Oreo without having to look over 8th & 10th grade shoulders like
And I don’t know if it was a racial thing but I found that a lot of the (white) students didn’t have an appreciation for Basquiat’s work. They mentioned how his work could be done by a two year old and would’ve still looked better. I guess it’s all about perspective/interpretation but you know they fear what they don’t understand and I’m not going to change them, they’ll forever keep proving my point. They don’t understand that a picture is worth 1000 words and that it is important to see beyond what you’re shown.
nevertheless I wasn’t mad though. I just found myself getting up quite a bit to go look at other pieces. and I landed myself in a completely different exhibit. It was African Art, I never did see something so TRUE in my grade 12 year, I loved it. It was my vision of what I come from and I don’t think that I could honestly deny it even if I were to be told that “You’re not actually black, you’re mixed” that shit didn’t even come into my mind, everything just kind of vanished from me but the best thing was that I was alone. I got the feeling of freedom and my mind was blank from all the bullshit I had to go back to once I got on the bus back to school.
This text post is just something out of the ordinary. It’s here if you care and still here if you don’t.