I Know What I Like

A number of my friends enjoy going to art galleries from time to time. I can take or leave it, but tend to take it because I enjoy spending time with my friends. I can leave it because the art on display seldom does much for me. I don't know that there's much to be said except that. I think a lot of the art is not very good, and trades more than anything on provocation. A lot of it derives from existing pop culture creations, which I don't care for much.

I should say that some of that latter material is very good, and that I don't know why a gifted artist would let their creation speak for some blockbuster movie instead of for them. That's a side issue, though. The point is that I can get very bored at some of these galleries, or I could if it weren't for the people.  Thank goodness for the people, because I tend to not get myself entangled in the wine and liquor that is such a hazard in a crowded gallery of well-appointed, fashionable types.

I find that the people in these galleries are some of the most stimulating to look at and listen to, and they keep me occupied. Some are just plain crazy looking, and this thankfully is confined to their manner of dress mostly. Some are ordinary looking, but carry themselves in some kind of comical fashion. Plenty seem to be convinced that photographs of paintings are worth something as well, whereas I'm inclined to think that memories are worth more. I'm weird.

I expressed this belief about the relative degrees of interest in art and person at the galleries, and my point of view was roundly rejected. It was evidently a rather sorry minority vote, gaining no traction. This saddened me, but there is always considerable solace in knowing you're right, even when you are the only one to be so. The rest of the world will someday realize the merits of my argument, I think it's safe to say.