I think it's time that I came clean about one of my most private issues. I'm not proud of what I'm about to divulge, but it's the truth and it's been painful keeping everything bottled up for so long.
The truth is, I am the absolute worst at art. "Absolute worst" ranges from not being able to draw human noses to behaving poorly in art galleries and accidentally knocking over sculptures with my backpack, to giggling at the sight of a tastefully-painted naked lady. Apparently, there is not a cultured bone in my body when it comes to art, and as much as that disappoints me, I know that it's part of who I am.
I've tried to ignore this gaping hole in my character for years, but it's too significant to disregard. This has been especially true during my tenure here at Dartmouth. I always hear that the exhibits that come to Dartmouth are beautiful, revolutionary and stunning, but when I muster up the energy to go take a gander myself, those adjectives never seem to register.
Because of my inappropriate (and borderline disrespectful) take on art, I feel it is time for me to admit some things that I have done and thoughts I have harbored about the art here at Dartmouth. Note that I am not proud of any of these, nor do I support any of my actions, but again, this is just part of who I am.
The Orozco Murals terrify me.
In case analogies are your thing: "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" is to eight-year-old Rembert as Orozco Murals are to 22-year-old Rembert.
The common link is that they both terrify me, and I refuse to see either after 6 p.m. If you've never wandered down to the Reserves to see the murals, imagine on a giant wall "Fantasia" + "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines" + "Animal Farm" + the book of Revelation. Personally, I think it's extremely rude for the College to put the Orozco Murals in the same place as books on reserve.
For those of us that are afraid of these murals, it makes doing well in school very difficult. Do I make my friends get books for me in the Reserves, you ask? Yes. When I'm forced to make the trip myself, do I refrain from looking up whenever I enter the room? Yes. Do my eyes sometimes wander towards the 21-foot depiction of Quetzalcoatl, causing a cold sweat that usually leads to an asthma attack? Yes.
In theory, all I want to do is soak in this artistic representation of the Americas from the pre-Columbian Golden Age to the Industrial Revolution, but the second I step into that room, my breath gets short, I hear the ghost of Cortez telling me to do bad things, and I run away to the safety of my own, non-artistic room.
Felix de la Concha turns respectable people into Muppets.
In a perfect world, I would walk into the Baker atrium and marvel at the masterpieces that Mr. de la Concha painted in only two hours. I should appreciate the multimedia experience that is this exhibit as well as the stories that each of the participants are describing with regards to conflict and resolution. That's what most normal people would do.
Instead, I walk into the Baker atrium and am instantly perplexed why this apparently cruel man turned 51 very respectable members of the Dartmouth community into Muppets. If you are an artist known for turning people into Muppets, that's one thing, but word on the street is that he isn't. I didn't finish Spanish 3 until junior fall, so excuse me if "Felix de la Concha" translates into "Jim Henson," but once again, smart money says that it doesn't. Regardless of his final product, I feel about Mr. de la Concha the way Hansel in "Zoolander" feels about Sting: "The music he's created over the years, I don't really listen to it, but the fact that he's making it, I respect that."
I absolutely respect the fact that he does his craft, I just think it's rude that he makes professors of mine look like Fozzy Bear.
I loved Gu Wenda for all the wrong reasons.
First off, as a public service announcement, it's "Gu Wenda," not "Wenda Gu," and every time you don't say his name correctly, you are insulting and offending all the Gu fans around the world. For you little '12s that have no idea what I'm talking about, a long, long time ago there was once a man named Gu Wenda who snuck into little children's bedrooms at night, cut their hair off and then got over one million dollars from the College to make hair-drapes for First Floor Berry.
I'll be the first to say I loved this exhibit, but not for its unique display, or because of its underlying message of international understanding and the unification of humanity. I loved this installation because once I saw a six-year-old girl chewing on the hair like her life depended on it.
Most responsible people would kindly alert the child's mother that her daughter was chewing on the hair of some innocent, now bald, child from Quechee, but I did nothing of the sort. Instead, I watched her do this, and then when she looked my way, I gave her a simple head nod, signaling to the little girl, "I won't tell. Keep on chewing." And so she did. Thank you, Gu.
Overall, I love the fact that there is so much art on this campus. Art benefits everyone, from those who are intellectually stimulated by it, to those of us that find infinite amusement from it. Keep up the good work, dARTmouth.
(I'm not proud of that last sentence, okay? The kids love it.)
