What is art for?

I just came back from Chicago. I attended the 4Cs (College Composition and Communication Conference), which is under the NCTE (National Council of Teachers of English). It was an incredible experience. I came back really charged up about teaching. It was also great to be back in Chicago. This was the first time in almost 30 years since I had been there. I went there a lot when I was in boot camp and then US Navy Hospital Corps School in Great Lakes. Dean and I used to go there to visit his son after his ex-wife moved near the city. It felt like home (Buffalo). However, this isn't what this post is about.

I also went to the Museum of Contemporary Art and saw their Warhol exhibit. Elvis, Marilyn, and Liz were all there, too. The most powerful exhibit, though, wasn't Andy's.

An artist named Maurizio Cattelan had one titled "HIM."

You had to walk through several rooms that were all stark white with nothing in them. Hallways were also stark white and empty. Finally, you got into the last room. It, too, was stark white. In the middle of the floor was what looked like a little boy kneeling, wearing a tweed suit. He seemed to be praying, looking out into nothing. It was a Duane Hanson-like figure. All this set you up for a feeling of total innocence. When you walked around to the front of the figure, you could finally see his face.

It was Hitler.

I may never look at anything the same way again.

To learn more about the artist, here's a link that also has an interview with him. There's also a picture of his sculpture, but it doesn't have the same impact when seen this way. The confined, pristine space of the gallery contributed to the powerful effect. For an artist who supposedly doesn't take his art too seriously, he has created some serious art.

I would love to be able to talk to people about the meaning of this and the effect it had.

A Mighty Fine Wine

“I don’t drink wine.”
--George Hamilton as Dracula in Love at First Bite

Just when I thought I was over the blow to my ego inflicted by my reading of Poppy Z. Brite’s Liquor (see my earlier post, “What’s Cookin’?”), where I realized how little I knew about food and that I am certainly no gourmet, I now find out that I’m also not an oenophile. Actually, I thought I was, but I realized I might be mistaking that for being an onanist. My bad. No, an oenophile is someone who loves wine, a wine connoisseur. I watched the movie Sideways Friday night. If you have not seen it (I thought I was the only one who hadn’t), it’s about a road trip two friends, Miles and Jack, take to the California wine country. They are spending a week visiting the wineries and tasting the wines. They are also saying good bye to Jack’s bachelorhood as he’s going to be married the following Saturday. Miles, who is a middle school English teacher and a failed novelist, is the oenophile; Jack is an actor, doing mostly commercials now, and he is dedicated to getting laid as often as possible before he settles down. Jack does seem to learn about wine from Miles, but he would really drink anything and hooks up with the sizzling Stephanie and has wild sex just about everywhere with her. He forgets, of course, to tell her he’s getting married. It leads to a painful encounter for Jack when she does find out. Even after that, Jack gets it on with a waitress and is found by her husband and runs five miles back to the hotel naked. They have to go back to get his wallet which has, among other things, his wedding rings in it. Miles proves to be the dutiful friend and helps him despite his wanting to nurture a relationship he’s started with the equally sexy Maya. The whole thing reminded me of something my friend Dean and I would have done 30 years ago. Maybe we did.

Anyway, what struck me was the devotion people had to wine and how seriously they took it. How someone could take half an hour to decide to taste the wine in the glass is beyond me. Miles could recite the history, not only of a particular wine, but also of the grapes that went into the making of it. He could get downright snobbish about wines he didn’t like. He has a special affinity for one wine, pinot something or other (see, I said I was no oenophile). I haven’t had any alcohol for over eight years, but even when I did, it usually wasn’t wine. In the early days of my first marriage (Ah, the late 60s, early 70s), we used to have wine once in a while. We were so broke, though, that it was usually some form of Boone’s farm from the 7-11.




Actually, I liked those fruity wines. I developed a taste for sangria for a while after I got out of the Navy, but it was usually from a pitcher filled with fruit. I suppose I even tried Ripple at some point. Hey, if it was good enough for Fred Sanford, it was good enough for me.




Looking through a Google search, I can see that there are millions of websites that deal with wine and many blogs that extol the virtues of wine and the prowess of the blogger in selecting wine. Blah blah blah. More power to them. I was somewhat dismayed to hear that my son is acquiring a taste for wine and even bought himself a wine refrigerator. It has to do with the restaurant he’s working in that has many fine (and expensive) wines. Apparently, my daughter-in-law has also been collecting wines. Strange, you’d think they had money or something. But, if that is part of being an educated person today, so be it. I think it’s too late for me.

I do have a bottle of wine in my collection, though (actually it is my collection). It’s also a Napa Valley Chardonnay (and you thought I had no class). Of course, I didn’t buy it myself. My friend TJ did.



Okay. Now you understand why I have it.

Too bad I don’t drink anymore. I could go for a little glass of Amontillado right now. Care to join me, Fortunado?