No coughing. Yet.
It couldn't be. I am much too busy for that.
I still had the children to entertain today so we set off to the new Saatchi Gallery in Chelsea. Saatchi is clearly of the size-does-matter school of thought and his thing is really big. And well-architected. The current exhibition, entitled Abstract America was just the thing for a fever. In my altered state I saw lots of things, even things that were probably not even there. One painting by Aaron Young was one of those affairs where you stare at some center dots and then look up for an after-image. I burst into laughter and walked around the gallery exclaiming "I saw Jesus". I've never felt so foolish.
Upstairs, I looked at a room filled with paintings by Amy Sillman. My serious head went back on as I remembered doing an exhibit with her long long ago. She was most awfully stand-offish. Good art can overcome such things. The paintings at Saatchi have a fantastic capability and presence. They are a real highlight of the exhibit.
What else? Elizabeth Neel. And what not? The Snake who ate a box.
Back home, as I lay in bed the show went on repeat through my fevered brain. The fevered brain started pondering the definition of abstraction. And Jesus. As gimmicky as that piece seemed, it was a good theoretical inclusion. The painting is abstract. The after-image is not. Or is it? Is Jesus an abstract thing? Abstract art can often lead you to the concrete, whether a concrete abstract or a concrete concrete. The trace of a piece often jumps out of the intended boundaries.
Speaking of jumping out, Missmarketcrash still does not understand how the catalogue and the show have completely different artists. What happened there Mr. Saatchi?