Warhol, YSL, and American art

Today I went to San Francisco's De Young Museum
An otherworldly experience.

omg, omg, omg. lol.
No, seriously. It was cool. Definitely a trip.

Andy Warhol I don't believe I can do justice to in a blog post, but perhaps he made himself a superficially plastic enough piece of art to be encapsulated in a few tasty soundbites, like the campbell soup cans and silkscreened faces he's known for.. He designed the 'sticky-fingers' album cover for the Stones, and I've heard two Velvet Underground albums, and the mirrorball with projected patterns on the walls, the idea of destroying people by making them just stare into a camera, the idea of repetition becoming unrepetitive, and his grand dream to both integrate and revolutionize all the arts, was a pretty heady experience, for a kid born in 1971 to a hippy. He did an album cover mocking cannibalism. The dance, though, I've got to say, was pretty cool, too. I'm totally into that. I could have spent a lot more time delving into details. It was like a drug for me. I'm fairly certain that was a part of the Andy Warhol experience, too. I was struck a bit by the horror of it, as well. Imminent Plastic Explosion? Lou Reed and heroin? Brillo pads as art and garish posters of superficial appearances....he was a spooky dude. His quote on death also revealed to me that he was completely confused. He was Byzantine Catholic or something. Anyway, Andy Warhol wikipedia link.

The second installment of today's drug-free trip (for only 20 bucks/adult) was the Yves St. Laurent retrospective collection, which was way more fun than I thought it would be. I have a newfound respect for the fashion industry, but, coming from Warhol, I had to think to myself, ugh, it's all superficial creation of an image, anyway, and some of the more outlandish pieces were reminders that the whole world is just a giant stage -and gallery- where people make themselves into pieces of art: their appearance, their personalities, their homes, the lifestyles, everything. It's all superficial. But some of these appearances are pretty damned impressive. Not everything is a silkscreened soupcan. Some art is an amazing dress, perhaps even revolutionary, if that word has any meaning, that is ornately crafted, visually arresting, truly unique, etc. Coming off of Warhol, though, it struck me as perhaps just another way for plastic people to divert attention away from vacuousness, such as maybe a simple and slavish pursuit of economic "superiority," onto appearances.

I felt slightly invigorated in my perspective that true meaning comes from making people's lives better in a real way: a)reduced suffering, b)basic needs and c)greater happiness, and not from a greedy keeping up with the Jones' or surpassing them. Anyone can "make a difference" by, say, killing people or painting your house. True meaning, though, is doing something substantive, not superficial. Even altruism can be superficial, though. That's a trap for the Bill Gates's and the Al Gores of the world, I would say. Jesus had some good points.

I somewhat consider this blog to be an art piece, itself. Making my identity God can be something either superficial or substantive. I'm a bit schizo on where I should go with this. It seems that the bible paints God out to be vengeance personified, a judge, etc. I don't like that angle. I'm not going to start killing people or something just to believe my own bullshit because God is defined by others that way. Hopefully I really can Be Godly, in an ever-increasing way, so that by the time I'm old, the world will be Paradisian (is that a word?).

Anyway,
The third part of today's coolness was the American art. I learned how to pronounce tromp l'oeil (fool the eye), and saw some pretty stunning pieces. Unfortunately, it got cut short because my wife Sara got thirsty and needed me to come with her while we walked all the way to the car and drove to a bar for a gin and tonic because the water fountain at the gallery wasn't good enough for her. Maybe it was actually because she was an art history major and so the art just wasn't nearly as magical for her. In fact, it seemed downright boring or something. My wife, it seems, is an art snob. Oh well, so it goes, we met Billy Bob Whitmer, a wannabe politician trying to start a Bull Moose party in San Francisco, and then went to my folks place in the city to celebrate Sara's birthday with my brother, his girlfriend, two aunts, an uncle, and the best damn chocolate cake I've had in a long while. That was my day. Just another day in Paradise.