When I was in 4th grade, the art teacher instructed us to draw a dragon. It didn’t take me a long time to finish the assignment, so I handed it in, took a book out of my desk and proceeded to read until the school bell rang. As I gathered my supplies, the teacher asked me to stay. I stood at her desk. She held up my dragon and said, “This is the worst piece of art I have ever seen.” She was probably right, but I thought it was beautiful.

Art is a value judgment. As a matter of fact, good art is not always aesthetically appealing to viewers. Obviously, mine was neither good nor appealing. However, I wonder what my art teacher would have thought of Tracey Emin’s exhibit,
My Bed (1998).  It was the actual messy bed where she slept and engaged in various activities that involved the secretion of body fluids. The bloody and semen soiled bed was exhibited in the Tate Gallery in 1999, won a prize, and was later purchased for a great deal of money. It brought fame and fortune to Emin, but I don’t know if she used the money to buy new sheets. A work of art exists in the mind of the creator, but sometimes it is okay to ask, “What in the world were you thinking?”

I have been privileged to befriend several artists over the years, and recognize that they see the world with unique vision---different from the rest of us. Artists see lights and shadows, color and forms, shapes, textures, line patterns and various materials which, combined with a wide range of ideas and feeling, contributes to the overall meaning of their finished work. I have visited art galleries all over the world, and maybe because I don’t have the gift, I have a keen appreciation of the remarkable talent of truly great artists, whose work can bring tears to my eyes. Sometimes, I enjoy just sitting on a bench admiring an inspired creation.

Recently, a friend invited me to join her to view a special museum exhibit of “Modern Work.”  When I entered the first gallery, I saw some scaffolding with paint cans on top, and asked the attendant, “Are you remodeling this gallery?”
“No,” he replied. “That’s a work of art, but you can walk under it.” “Is the hole in the wall and the plaster on the floor part of his exhibit?” I asked. “No,” replied the attendant, “That’s the work of a different artist.” I couldn’t say, “My kindergartener could do better than that,” but I could have said, “ A demolition crew-----!

The next artist gave us 6 framed bottle caps accompanied by 6 matching framed bottle openers. He didn’t paint them. He framed them. I’m not sure his was a quest for knowledge as much as a quenching of thirst, and I got the message that he prefers imported beer. I don’t think that bottle caps and openers will stand the test of time, but then famous works are also often misunderstood.

Martin Kippenberger’s $1.1 million “When it Starts Dripping from the Ceiling” in the Ostwall Museum in Germany was damaged when a cleaning woman scrubbed away a painted rain puddle beneath a rubber trough placed under a stacked tower of wooden slats. Obviously, his work made an impression on her.
The final exhibit in my tour of the “Modern Works” was indeed bizarre. Some people say that “Art is in the eye of the beholder,” but not in this case. Five plaster casts of a man’s male organ were placed on five books. I have heard of thumbing your way through the pages, but not in this case.  I don’t know if the artist used his own anatomy for the plaster casts, but if he did, I do know--- he wasn’t Jewish!

Esther Blumenfeld (My dragon wasn’t that bad after all)