I say potato you say art.

Its 2 am our time and I am putzing on the Internet, as I am want to do in the wee hours, and Ashley is asleep.  We got back a few hours earlier from dinner with Cristina and her sister and Ashley has been passed out since we arrived from her massive 4 hour long drinking binge, which consisted of 3 glasses of wine.  I feel a rumbling in my stomach and rush to the bathroom and  empty the contents of my belly into the toilet.  I turn back, hoping that Ashley slept through it, embaressed by my vomiting.  I feel much better at this point and figure it was simply something I ate.  Thirty minutes later, with Ashley’s awakening and similar rush to the bathroom proved my theory correct.  We eventually feel asleep and the morning came with a vengeance, and our pact to go to the MALBA.

            I woke up a mess, and what I was worried was food poisoning, turned out to only be dehydration, which we discovered when I drank most of 2 liter of water.  We made it out of the house around one thirty and took the subway (with out incident) to Palmero and walked around a mele, past the Zoo and a beautiful Park.  We arrived to the MALBA and immediately headed to the top floor. 

 

            As we worked our way through the galleries we became, once again, acquainted with our clashing views on Art.  While we both thoroughly enjoy it, we differ in our knowledge of it (Ashley knows much more than I do) and how much credit we assume in the artist (Ashley seems to assume that they are all geniuses.)  Thus when we sit down at a Jorge de la Vega work, and ponder the meaning behind it, and she comes ups with some commentary on commodity and mass production, and I come up with a representation of Gods creation of man in his “own image,” we are both happy and there is no argument.  This continues through most of the gallery, in an amenable way, until the very last room.  It is in this room that our views differ greatly, and it is in this room, where we got started in a discussion, which bordered on argument, that went on for at least an hour.

            Sitting amidst the art works was a rectangular table.  On the table were two table clothes one black and one white, and two table settings, with fork and knife, on each table cloth.  The white table setting had a ceramic plate, with 3 faux, but realistic, potatoes on it.  The black table setting had a translucent plate with 3 translucent plastic potatoes on it.  Note that I made Ashley agree to this description before I go any further.   

            I immediately start questioning this piece.  I expected Ashley to agree with me on this, after all how much talent does it take to make faux potatoes (they are brown dirty objects with imperfections and oblong in shape) and clear plastic potatoes (which were not exactly fantastically rendered.)  I was very wrong.  Actually I do not think I could have been more wrong.  Ashley tore into me and explained that OBVIOUSLY this piece was talking about how bad consumerism was, how at one place they are eating potatoes, as they need to and have been for generations, and on the other how they are eating the products of consumerism (plastic potatoes?) and this dichotomy was some how to represent the emptiness (through the translucence) of the evil plastic potatoes of capitalism and consumerism.  Of course I was ignorant and would have known this if I was aware of the South American modern art culture of the 1960’s, alas my lack of such basic knowledge rendered a subtle intelligent piece of artwork to appear to be an esoteric table setting with inedible food.  How could I have been so foolish?

            Anyways, to change the subject before Ashley kicks me out.  We headed down to the Armenian plaza, and wandered looking for a restaurant.  Both our first choice (Krishna’s) and second choice (Sakir’s) were closed for vacation.  So we went up to Plaza Serrano and ate a small meal at a restaurant there.  We started to make our way north to the Metro station, but when Ashley stopped to call Cristina, I spotted a wine store.  I headed in and Ashley joined me.  She instantly befriended the sole employee of the shop, and, while I will let her tell you the specifics, he helped us pick out a VERY nice Malbec, and they exchanged email addresses. 

            We headed home at this point and proceeded to write blog entries and drink the Malbec as we prepared for dinner at a local eatery that she has been waiting to eat at.  It is at this point I must stop writing as there is no more I can say. 

~ by aedlund on January 8, 2009.