Shyzerblog

Early sunset inspires self doubt; first in one’s sense of time (“It’s only 4:30? Geez, I could’ve sworn it was past 9…”), then in everything else.

I’ve been trying to stave off the oh-god-it’s-dark-already blahs with home made soup. Today I made another batch of a carrot soup I’ve been enjoying and experimenting with, this time with fresh ginger. I’ve never used fresh ginger in anything before. I think I’m in love.

I spent most of the day today at the just-opened and therefore free-for-the-weekend AGO, which is to say I spent most of the day today standing in line to get into the just-opened and therefore free-for-the-weekend AGO.

The rennovation was pretty much as I expected it; I like a lot of the inside, but I still hate the outside. It looks like a giant glass Jabba the Hut. And while standing inside the giant glass bulge was impressive, the expansive view is still only of Dundas Street. And all that Canadian wood just starts to come off looking like a cheesy wildneress lodge themed resort hotel. Oh well, at least it’s still free on Wednesday nights, which is more than can be said of the ROM (of which I hold the opposite opinions – like the outside, hate the inside).

A few galleries (generally the contemporary ones) had little signs like this next to the pieces:

I was simultaneously amused, annoyed, and insulted by these. Do they really expect people not to assume that the singular looking objects surrounded by stanchions in the middle of the gallery room floor are not the art? It suggests they either think their patrons are morons or they don’t have much faith in the ability of the collection to draw attention on its own.

Part of me has always thought that museums and galleries are where art goes to die. These are like little tombstones: “Here Lies Art”.

These little cards were neccessary in the Galleria Italia, where several large pieces that looked very much like benches and were placed very much where one would hope and expect to find benches were in fact not benches, but Art, and therefore subject to the Second Thing I Hate About Galleries:

I know I know, you can’t have hundreds of tourists a day running their grubby hands over the canvases. I get it. But it pains me so much to see pieces that beg to be experienced tactilely (woah! That’s a word! I checked!) being shut up under the surly gaze of irritated security guards. Maybe they weren’t meant to be locked up. Sometimes I enjoy that art in the wild is allowed to naturally deteriorate and vanish. After all, nothing gold can stay, Ponyboy.

All this has given me an idea which I may or may not execute in the next few days. If I do, you’ll be the first to know.