I went to see the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the beginning of Winter, and I was so entranced by his glorious "Yellow"...
...that as I leaned in to better appreciate the impact of the colour on that immense scale, I got dizzy and tripped, stumbling onto the artwork. I immediately jumped back as a wizened security lady hissed at me, her face contorted with outrage.
Disregarding my natural clumsiness, I am one of those terrible people who often cannot resist touching sculptures. It's just that they are so damn inviting sometimes, and I must admit that the air of stuffiness in many galleries brings out my inner rebel. I was dying to squoosh my hands into the red wax of Svayambh at the same show. Kapoor is partly to blame for creating such beautiful, awe-inspiring yet invitingly visceral works.
Luckily for cat-bum-faced security vigilantes everywhere, I managed to restrain myself for the rest of the show. But the lure of touching the apparently weightless tumble of mirrored bubbles in the courtyard proved too much. Artists - if your sculpture is outdoors, exposed to the elements, then all bets are off.
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2 comments:
I am totally with you on this. In my case there are quite a few paintings out there that I have dreamt of giving a big old hug. It's there own fault for making them just too darn beautiful and inviting.
While visiting the St. Louis Art Museum as a teenager, I couldn't keep from touching Rodin's "Depair", which communicated the angst I felt as a teen. About an hour ago, I was leading a tour of high school students at a museum where I now work part-time and found myself cautioning children against leaning on the (still-wet) oil paintings. I hope everyone catches an art virus and never outgrows a passion for viewing it . . . or touching it. Don't we long to touch that which we love?
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