The likeness of a lake. A quiet contemplation of water. A unique utilitarian object still mass-produced today.
These words, stated by Saint Louis Art Museum director Brent Benjamin, all ran through my mind as I stared at the object-a vase-to which they referred. You’d think that Benjamin was describing an incredibly complex, defining piece of art, or a beautiful, majestic vase that would immediately catch the eye and captivate its audience. So when I was taking a break one Friday afternoon, wandering around the Art Museum, happy as a clam to be away from the controversial art on Saint Louis University’s campus, I kept my eye out in particular for this vase.
When I finally saw it, though, only one thought ran through my mind: It’s a . vase.
No, it wasn’t five feet tall and emanating a radiating glow. It didn’t strike me as resembling any sort of body of water. And the only reason I stared at it for about five minutes was because I was trying to figure out-as usually happens with modern art-why this deserved to be in art museum.
Not that the vase didn’t deserve to be in an art museum, or that the artist doesn’t deserve to be called an artist. But the vase simply looked like a piece of clear glass with a tinge of bluish-green at the ridges, curved in an odd, asymmetrical way. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere in the world, vases that looked like this one were selling for $19.95 at some crafts store.
O.K., so I had failed to understand the vase, the “quiet contemplation of water.” But, it’s a big museum with plenty to see, so I made my way quickly past the miscellaneous items in the pop art exhibit (sorry, but anything like a plastic lawn chair or bright red telephone doesn’t exactly enthrall me).
Now, normally when I visit the Art Museum, I make a beeline for the exhibits with which I’ve become very familiar, obviously because I like those artists-Matisse, Picasso, Kelly-or those particular time periods or styles-Assyrian art, Egyptian sculptures, Chinese calligraphy. On this particular visit, I decided to forgo that tradition and forced myself to wander only around the lower level of the museum.
Now I’ll admit that I’m no art critic or art historian, so a visit to the art museum is either extremely entertaining or frustrating for me-entertaining in the obvious sense, but frustrating in that I don’t understand why certain things are considered art. Looking at a bean bag chair that I’d rather sleep on, or a plate that could have been a part of my neighbor’s dining set didn’t exactly entertain me.
In fact, only when I reached the aesthetically pleasing and historically interesting European period rooms did I feel a sense of relief that I was again looking at real art. And yes, I did end up on the upper levels of the museum, reveling in the paintings of van Gogh, Monet and Picasso.
But as I was passing by these familiar works, I couldn’t help but feeling that-as aesthetically beautiful as they are-the pieces were becoming, well . I wouldn’t call them plain, but they weren’t evoking stirring emotions, nor was I extremely overjoyed to see them. In fact, as I looked at the gigantic panel of Monet water lilies, I thought, “That’s nice”-but walked away looking for something different. I realized that landscapes, still lives and portraits are nice, but when it comes to appreciating something for its interest-and maybe not for its aesthetical beauty-it’s necessary to explore the new and slightly unusual (even if it the only response it triggers is, “I could have done that”).
The ultimate question “What is art?” (or, “What is good art?”) won’t be answered any time soon, but I left the Art Museum with a feeling of satisfaction that afternoon, knowing that even though I wasn’t exactly hailing the watery vase as the world’s most significant piece of art, I didn’t have to.
Diana Umali is a senior studying music and business.
