Art and Posters

www.essaysbysean.blogspot.com

Today's essay is not about the history of art, nor the intersection of art and personality, nor the intersection of art and culture. These topics were all mentioned recently in a speech to my Toastmasters club. Towards the end of my art speech something really surprised me, something worthy of an essay

(Mounting)

To give the speech I had left on my walls at home nearly all my heavy framed art. Instead I brought stuff from earlier in my collecting days, mainly posters. Some were "plaque mounted" where an expert transfers them to wood and carves a slot on the back for hanging. Others were "dry mounted" onto a material as light as styrofoam with a wee strip attached on the back. The ones on wood look solid and permanent and, alas, they cost more. You mustn't use plaque mounting for an expensive "limited edition" poster from a gallery. That's because, being frameless, (mounted) the value of the poster then plummets. And besides, after careful consideration, and asking around, I am confident that framed pieces look much better.

I say framed is better even though my home has a theme of space age minimalism. The walls are all "antique (spaceship) white": 'The better to show off the paintings, my dear.' The furniture, where not futuristic, is a very light brown birch or maple. My (childish?) taste in art runs to brightly colored stuff and away from those dark classic oil paintings like you see on the covers of English literature novels. And no night scenes. I have put two colorful huge "impressionism" plaque mounted Renoirs in the corners of the bathroom. Soft plastic stick-on buttons keep the pieces away from the wall to allow humid air to flow.So far, neither the paint nor the painting has peeled. Once, in my old place, near my shower, I put up a dry mounted piece. Not recommended: now I know that dry mounts are a series of sheets pressed together.

(Hanging)

Back in my starving student days, a time of small windows and fake wood paneling, all I could afford was plain paper posters. It was either mutilate them with thumbtacks or use tape. Never use scotch tape, for that usually takes the paint off the walls. Use masking tape, in circles, on the back. I found this never hurt the paint...but sometimes I'd wake up to a crashing sound.

These days I'm paying on the installment plan for an original oil from the Stephen Lowe Gallery. It's my second piece from those good folks. My toastmaster buddies would probably prefer not to commit to paying as much money, not if they're new to Art. And so I told them about the traveling poster show, "Imaginus," that travels to all the local post-secondary campuses twice a year. The posters are so diverse: photos of Marilyn Monroe, poems like the Desirada with butterflies on the margins, nature pictures of turtles... And of course reproductions of the classic O's: Donatello, Michaelangelo and Leonardo. And Rafael. Did I mention turtles?

(Buying)

I told my buddies, as I stood on our little stage, that they don't have to buy a Renoir as I would. "If you like a poster of Homer Simpson eating a donut then buy it," I said "and enjoy." And that is when they surprised me. (or is this a reconstructed memory?) As soon as I spoke of Mr. Simpson I watched them all exhale at once, like a room of deflating balloons.

They had been intimidated. I guess they thought that normal people, including me, would think that they are "supposed to" know all about art. I suppose that from TV shows such as Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous they saw that art is prevalent and then wondered if they were missing out on something. And then wondered if I, or others, would judge them.

(Enjoying)

They probably shouldn't worry. I've hobnobbed at galleries with rich art fans who can afford to buy their paintings with just one single payment. I have invariably found them to be friendly and polite. In contrast, back when I was a callow youth, some of my fellow students were snobs about preferring independent (indie) rock bands. And yes, these young snobs might judge you if you preferred a singer who was normal and popular. In my younger days I didn't mingle with artsy students. If I had, though, I suspect they'd have been less like certain music fans and more like avid readers. I've never met a bookworm snob, have you? Even my English teacher, Diane Patterson, would never disparage my summer beach reading, not unless A) she was simultaneously offering me something else to read, and B) it was winter. In summer she'd be on the next towel over reading Harry Potter.

A nice way to wet your tongue about art is to ask around when out socializing. My friend Christina Chan trusted me enough to ask, in effect, "So tell me, is this weird modern art just a hoax?" I was able to answer, "No," because I had just intimidation proofed myself by taking a night school course. The course was taught up on a mount by a brunette who worked down in the glen at the river museum. She projected slides and used a red laser pen to show us how the eye moves through a painting. Of my male classmates, most were interior design majors; they already knew how the eye tracks and how paired colors cause tension. Not me, I had a real good time.

If you ever want to know a little something about art then just buy me the beer and we'll talk. And don't be intimidated, OK?

Sean I know what I like; I like what I know Crawford,

near Fort Calgary, 2008