Three months gone by

I always wonder what people see when they look at art. It seems that most are geared towards the aesthetic, while the rest focus on the content or miss it completely. My most recent installation really made me think about this. At the opening reception I talked with people who loved the way it looked, people who joked about their own play on words or clever descriptions, people who had never been to an art show before and people who thanked me for the work that I do. The installation itself was a floor to ceiling collage of dress patterns with carbon paper transfer drawings on them. The drawings traced images I had collected from my research on child soldiering and from my own pictures taken in The Gambia. The two subject matters were arranged randomly; some of the patterns overlapped, others abutted and they were a very soothing mix of amber hues against the white of the gallery wall. The tone of the carbon paper transfer drawings blended so well with the tone of the printing on the patterns that many visitors overlooked them completely. They looked and didn't even see before they left. The people that stayed and talked usually asked questions about my trip to Africa only, and skipped the subject of child soldiering altogether. With the exception of Gabe Flores, who has been the most critical of my critics, no one questioned my combining of experiences or the focus on Africa. Everyone did, however, comment on how the show looked pleasing to them. They were calmed by the color shifts and drawn to both the delicacy of the paper and the tactile quality of it. For the most part, they were drawn into the work because they didn't see what it meant at first. This is not to say that I don't give everybody the benefit of the doubt when it comes to looking at art. As an artist I think I am the worst of anyone - I am initially seduced purely by the feeling that the aesthetic creates. I feel the colors and the composition and then I choose to walk away or stay and dig deeper, and uncover the content and meaning. Sometimes I find that thinking less like an artist might make me a better one. But not really.