As evidenced above, most of the art at London’s Tate Modern isn’t exactly what you might call “accessible”. I personally know very little about visual art (and even less about the nebulous sub-category of “modern art”); to see this world-renowned gallery from the perspective of the uninitiated was an experience that was both exhilarating and more than a little bizarre.
If you’re anything like me, visiting a place like Tate can be a humbling undertaking; I would see a piece I loved, but upon reading the plaque would discover that I had completely missed the artist’s intended message or symbolism. (In particular, I remember a striking set of paintings that appeared to be no more than huge, nonsensical swirls of red paint, but were apparently supposed to immediately conjure thoughts of Classical mythology. I was reminded more of, you know, big red spirals of paint.) Anyway, hit the jump to get a sense for what it’s like to wander into the waking hallucination that is Tate Modern.
Dia Al-Azzawi’s Sabra And Shatila Massacre. Even for an art history amateur like myself, it’s hard to see this one and not think immediately of Picasso’s stirring Guernica. My shoddy photography really adds to the chaotic poignancy of the piece, don’t you think? …I’m going to stop talking now.
The piece above had something to do with sheep. …What, you’re not getting that vibe? How very pedestrian of you.
I could go for a tall glass of milk right about now. Or maybe a Rorschach test.
With this one, we’ve come to the end of the tour. Please return your headphones at the entrance.