TharpSter Art

George: I don’t get art.

Jerry: There’s nothing to get.

George: No, it always has to be explained to me, and then I have to have someone explain the explanation.

 

 

Generally speaking, I don’t either.

 

Even though the life consuming pursuit of others to nurture, patronize, and otherwise encourage the creative ones among us has led to some pretty unique stuff for us to gawk at, it’s just not my bottle of un-reformulated green tea.

 

That’s not to say it hasn’t been helpful to me though.

 

Many years ago when the location of my cubicle moved from a 14 story office building to a new joint out in the middle of the allergy laden woods of the Texas hill country, the only way I could navigate the place was based on what artwork was hanging where.

 

Yet still, I don’t get art.

 

Speaking of art and the auxiliary office, a combination of the two has me walking by a questionable piece on a regular basis.  I won’t go into a whole lot of detail about it, outside of the fact that it looks like it depicts a certain body part which really shouldn’t be put on display on a day to day basis.

 

Did I mention that I don’t get art?

 

Yeah, well.

 

I’ll live, you’ll live, we’ll all live together regardless if we understand the meaning behind whatever has been thrown on a canvas in an effort to perpetuate our culture.

 

Speaking of whatever gets thrown on a canvas, please take a moment to consider the piece I’ve posted here.

 

I hope it gives you pause to consider everything that’s right with the world, everything that’s wrong with the world, and everything in between.

 

As you take it in, consider the terrain on the canvas as a symbol of the uneven ground which we must traverse on a daily basis.  Consider the volatile pattern of the design which litters the terrain with an obstacle at every turn.  Ponder the use of color and how the darker shades of the spectrum are used to convey what appears to be a desperate sense of uncertainty.  The figure in the middle almost appears to have arms thrown up in the air as it seeks an answer to life’s greatest question.

 

I truly hope it grows on you as much as it’s growing on me.  I call it “The Microwave Is Free Of Splatters”.  The medium is canned chili and grated cheddar cheese on a paper towel.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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