Musings from the gallery
Well, it’s clear from this that he hates women: look at the saggy breasts, mottled abdomen … what’s this one called? Ah – Self-portrait … so what I was thinking was a bit of a prolapse is actually his … Hmm – I don’t think I’m quite getting Egon Schiele.
Moving on … OMG! They’ve actually gone and put a big reproduction on its own in a room so people can get on with taking selfies, leaving the way clear to see the original – I wish. There’s still the equivalent of a free kick line-up in front of it. I’ll have to go find another one to look at until it’s cleared a bit.
Would you look at the legend on this one! At a glance I can spot a grocer’s apostrophe, a missing comma, and two typos. Whoah …that isn’t the point! I haven’t even looked at the painting yet. So, focus: what do I think and feel about this? I love the hazy, stippled background and the sharp out… Oh! Thank you, sir, thank you very much! How am I supposed to continue with my contemplation now your man bun is obscuring the view?
‘Dad, Dad … why is that lady lying around with no clothes on?’ Well, this little lad is doing better at gender identification than I am. But not an exhibition to bring the under-fives to, I think. Oh, Dad’s hurrying him away – now I’ll never know the answer. He’s clearly forgotten the first rule of taking small children to a gallery: make sure there are enough furry animals in the paintings to point them out at regular intervals.
Help! There are rooms off to both sides of this one. Which way, which way? FOMO is looming … and … oh no! … I’ve been doing it in the wrong order: it was 1934 before and here it’s 1923. It’s too big … it’s too much … SOMEONE TELL ME WHERE TO GO … Aaaarrrrgggghh! I’m in the middle of a full-blown picture-panic attack! I really need to get straight to the nearest one-room gallery to regain control.
But where’s that? Perhaps the shop and a cup of tea will make it all go away … Whose idea was that? If Klimt had known his paintings would be plastered all over teddies in the 21st century, he would probably have decided to be a credit controller instead.
This book looks great – the reproductions are terrific, ‘… this was to do with its haecceity … it is pots, putting them aside can only be provisional.’ Does anyone else understand this stuff? It’s so high-pitched that only dogs and other artists can hear it. Or maybe it’s just art bollocks.
No, I must be firm. I’ll still be trying to finish all the art books I’ve already got by the time the Grim Reaper comes, and I don’t think he (for he is a he) will make any concessions. It will have to be another fridge magnet.