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Art Is Just About Feeling
It doesn’t matter if you know the proper way to appreciate it or not.
I don’t know anything about art. I mean, I took an art history class in high school so I know the names of the most important periods and styles, but I don’t understand art. I can’t dissect the techniques an artist uses, and I don’t know what their personal journey was to creating a piece.
But I enjoy art, and I’ve noticed it doesn’t matter whether you know what the correct thing to appreciate about it is or not.
I lived in Barcelona in my 20s, so I’ve seen my fair share of Picassos and Dalís and Mirós, and I went to the Reina Sofia in Madrid to see Guernica. A couple of years ago, I visited New York and went to MoMA and the Met.
In all these places, I’ve had profound experiences without knowing anything about art, and without being able to analyze it in detail.
I know I love Monet, and Warhol, and Jackson Pollock. The way Degas paints dancers can move me to tears. I know I can sit in front of the Water Lilies for a half an hour and not get bored. I know seeing Guernica in real life is an experience worthy of traveling to Madrid. The sheer size of it makes it pop out in a way a book or an image on Google never will, and completely transforms it.
