During my summer break, I went for a stroll through Paddington and circled back to Darlinghurst, ending up at a gallery on William Street. I’d previously purchased a piece from one of their represented artists which I felt bought me ‘art cred’ to be in that space. A couple of pieces caught my eye: a sculpture of a male torso and a small painting composed of intermingling brushstrokes of lilac and grey.
I had a lovely chat with the gallery assistant about the theme of the works on display. I mentioned that the torso appealed to me because it symbolised physical health—something I’ve elevated to one of my supreme values. The brushstroke painting felt more abstract but I later came to see it for me as symbolising the breeze of these summer days on leave.
We drifted into a conversation about our attachment to beauty which she was constantly exposed to at the gallery. Being surrounded by works of art can provoke a desire to possess them before they disappear. I reflected that the sense of urgency that generates is misleading as beauty is abundant. I walked into a gallery, here now, and there it was, yet again. The urgency wasn’t about the beauty itself but the certainty of this moment. Future encounters were unknown and unpredictable.
I asked her which pieces spoke to her most. She pointed to a small black-framed canvas that appeared to me like a void. She said you can’t have light without dark. Contrast, I acknowledged. Joy, sadness; work, leisure.
She explained that the pieces that entered her life always seemed circumstantial. What can happen, might happen. This idea allowed her to practice detachment, she said. This particular piece coming and going from her life was uncertain. But beauty would always enter her life.
Before I left, she mentioned an upcoming exhibition of the artist who painted the black box. I marked it in my calendar, not because I cared for the artist but rather I was intrigued by the idea of experiencing art in the real world. Gym classes, songwriting and politics had all revealed themselves this year to be ways of connecting with people in the real world by socialising my interests. Would art not be the same? I had purchased my artwork of the artist represented by this gallery online after a year of regular browsing in a digital space where this unpredictable conversation with a stranger was, is, impossible.
I thanked her for the chat and said that I would practice detachment from the pieces I had admired. I wondered later that if I do purchase them that they might no longer just represent a healthy body and a summer breeze but this moment; the freedom to wander, end up at a gallery, and have a conversation about beauty, attachment, and meaning.
Anyway, this is a book about art.
I loved how the first use of visible brushstrokes paved the way for the impressionists who sought to capture fleeting moments.
I loved how Munch’s scream inspired Marina Abramović’s performance of one.
And I loved how the first depictions of children at play gave way to the ebullient joy of Sorolla’s beach scenes.