A couple of days ago I visited the Tate Museum in Liverpool. Included in their collection is one of Yves Klein's infamous blue paintings. A trademark color the artist patented and, according to the placard next to the painting, he believed "had a quality close to pure space." Brilliance or bull?
I remember when I first learned of Yves Klein in my art history class. I thought to myself, "what a quack!" Of course textbook representations of original works is hardly the appropriate platform on which to form a such a staunt opinion. Later that same year, I saw one of Klein's paintings in person; I still struggled to appreciate his place in the annals of art history, but accepted it - albeit with a healthy dose of resignation. Afterall, the color was pretty amazing.
And here I am, yet again considering Klein's IKB (for International Klein Blue - brilliant or pompous?) and reluctantly, pull myself closer to the painting, allowing my eyes to examine its surface. Indeed, the color is incredible. It clings to the surface in a way that escapes description and, ironically, captures space. Just as my admiration begins to give way to a trance and a whole new sense of appreciation for the painting, a group of high school-aged kids enter the gallery and bring with them the inevitable chatter that comes so easily to self-absorbed teenagers. Two girls break the invisible barrier held between myself and IKB Number Whatever, talking incessently and just skirting past the powerful forcefield that I, seconds before, was so intensely experiencing. Says one girl to her friend, "so is this just a blue painting? Is it a painting? I don't get it."
I chuckled - more at myself than to myself. I felt silly. Yup, it's just a painting. A famous one, patented and international, but just a painting nonetheless. And I'm pretty sure I could be famous for a red one - so long as it's patented...and marketed with the right amount of brilliant, pompous bull.
I remember when I first learned of Yves Klein in my art history class. I thought to myself, "what a quack!" Of course textbook representations of original works is hardly the appropriate platform on which to form a such a staunt opinion. Later that same year, I saw one of Klein's paintings in person; I still struggled to appreciate his place in the annals of art history, but accepted it - albeit with a healthy dose of resignation. Afterall, the color was pretty amazing.
And here I am, yet again considering Klein's IKB (for International Klein Blue - brilliant or pompous?) and reluctantly, pull myself closer to the painting, allowing my eyes to examine its surface. Indeed, the color is incredible. It clings to the surface in a way that escapes description and, ironically, captures space. Just as my admiration begins to give way to a trance and a whole new sense of appreciation for the painting, a group of high school-aged kids enter the gallery and bring with them the inevitable chatter that comes so easily to self-absorbed teenagers. Two girls break the invisible barrier held between myself and IKB Number Whatever, talking incessently and just skirting past the powerful forcefield that I, seconds before, was so intensely experiencing. Says one girl to her friend, "so is this just a blue painting? Is it a painting? I don't get it."
I chuckled - more at myself than to myself. I felt silly. Yup, it's just a painting. A famous one, patented and international, but just a painting nonetheless. And I'm pretty sure I could be famous for a red one - so long as it's patented...and marketed with the right amount of brilliant, pompous bull.
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