In the Eye of the Beholder

I was blessed with a rare visit from an American relative in the form of my cousin Hana, a college student in Boston. I’d like to say she came all the way to Singapore to visit, but I can’t. She went to China as part of her course of study in international affairs, and made a side trip for a few days.

We visited the Singapore Art Museum to get a little culture, and I got more than I bargained for. I had an epiphany, and I am now looking into a career change. Specifically, the creative spirit within me is busting out, and I plan to become an artist.

Would you believe I was so inspired by the beautiful expressions of imagination and skillful renderings that I decided to devote my talents to similar expressions? No? I didn’t think so. In fact, I was just amazed by what passes for art these days, and I decided I could do it at least as well.

One piece was a series of 12 square cards arranged in a sequence, each one a darker shade of pink than the last. I could do that.

Then there was a group of television monitors playing videos of “performance art.” One screen showed a man taking off his pants. I do that every day. More than once, if I’m lucky! Another showed a man taking a swig from a bottle of water and forcefully spitting it out. I could do that.

There was also a Michael Jackson style jacket suspended from the ceiling by strings, as though an invisible Michael Jackson was getting ready to “Beat It.” I could do that, too.

Then there was a cardboard box from an overnight delivery company that had been shaped into a crude house. In the “front yard” was a bunch of nail clippers, files, and other manicure tools. Wait a minute; that sounds bad. It was an arrangement of nail care implements. If you describe it the right way someone might actually pay money for it.

When my daughter builds a house of blocks and leaves her toys scattered around I used to think she was just making a mess and refusing to clean it up. Now I know better—I have a budding Duchamp on my hands. I had better stop giving her time out for that, lest I squelch her artistic genius.

My favorite—meaning the one that made me laugh the hardest—was a collection of old fashioned, lacy infant clothing, each suspended from the ceiling by strings, as though they were being worn by infant ghosts.

I got the feeling that some art class assignment was to create a piece of art by suspending objects from the ceiling with string, and the ones that didn’t pass somehow ended up at the museum.

I hate to sound so negative, but most of us artists are of a critical turn, and quite opinionated as well. So, in the interests of equal time, let me say that there were a few nice paintings, sculptures, and ceramic pieces.

There is also a Glass Hall with fantastic, colored glass bowls. I’m not so sure I could do that. These babies were not suspended from strings, but they were mounted high on the walls. Some genius decided that this room would be a great place for young schoolchildren on field trips to play, and the kids were throwing objects all over the place. So if you appreciate glass, you should definitely check it out. But hurry!

In the meantime, I will contemplate my first masterpiece. I’ll get started as soon as I find a large spool of string.