Contemporary Modern Art

Part One, Defined.

I just spent a few days in La Jolla, California. While wandering the streets of La Jolla with my wife, we ventured into a handful of galleries. Many of these galleries proclaim themselves to be purveyors of fine Contemporary Modern Art. I started wondering exactly what this moniker actually meant. In the process I've decided on a sure fire way to identify if a piece of "art" is contemporary modern art or not. This method may not guarantee you will identify all art that is professionally labeled as "modern," but it will guarantee you that any art you personally identify as "modern" is, in fact, truly contemporary modern art.

If you are looking at a piece of "art" and the first thought in your head, the first words from your lips, are: What the F? You, my friend, are gazing upon Contemporary Modern Art of the highest order!

Since I just took off in a jet, I had the thought, in much the same way, most airplane crashes--for the passengers aboard anyway--almost always qualify as Contemporary Modern Art. Given the right situations we can go through life finding Contemporary Modern Art almost anywhere. Keep your eyes open for examples of this fine "found art" form. Anytime you catch yourself saying, or even thinking, "What the F?" just remember that you are in the presence of art.

Part Two, Nothing.

There's a big expanse of nothing. Lots of them, actually. Expanses. Of nothing. We never notice them, though, so we don't even realize they are there--be it in the comfort of our climate-controlled automobiles or sitting and sipping a cocktail in the pressurized cabin of a jet. Our every need is met and there is no challenge or hardship in travel. Maybe there should be. There certainly used to be. All of those homesteaders, miners, and pioneers could not stop off at the nearest exit, pull in to the Fast Foodplex Plus and grab a Starbucks and a triple cheeseburger with fries. Many of them never even made it due to disease, lack of water, even starvation or predation by other people. Imagine how much more we would appreciate our San Diego beach adventures if first we had to run a gauntlet of danger and duress, making our way of our own accord across hundreds of miles of open desert and rugged mountainous passes.

Looking down from 30,000 feet, club soda in hand and a book propped on my drop-down tray table, I see an odd strip of farmland. There in the deserts of western Arizona, large green circles spread out along the landscape in a swath of controlled lushness. Crops are grown in round fields to accomodate rotational sprinklers that pump water and turn in slow, lazy circles, creating unnaturally green dots across the desert. Some of these big green alien pies have a piece cut out, be it a sprinkler arm that goes back and forth in a three-hundred and forty degree arc, just short of a full circle, or some other unknown reason. Without irrigation nothing of use could grow here. Each lush green circle is an artifice. And that's the odd thing.

These "farms" stretch out for many, many miles in a narrow line that follows, presumeably, the Central Arizona Project (CAP), the water supply system that snakes over three-hundred miles across the state delivering Colorado river water to the farms and ever-growing cities of Arizona. You see these circles of varying shades of green and reddish tones, some brilliant green, some dull and nearly earthtone, stretching out. It's vastly long. But it's not wide.

As I said, this strip of farming circles goes for what seems hundreds of miles--it's so hard to judge distance from 30,000 feet in the air--but it can't be more than a quarter of a mile wide. I'd be surprised if it's that wide. And at the edges, this artificial greenery simply melts away and dissolves into rocky, rugged desert. The edges are literally fuzzy and indistinct. You look down upon this thing, this snaking spine of circular farmland; you see the narrowness of it, the crumbling edges being nibbled away by the voracious appetite of the awaiting desert; you look down and you say to yourself, "What the F?" Arizona's version of Contemporary Modern Art.

A Map For Saturday

I just watched a documentary called A Map For Saturday and really enjoyed it. Made by an ex-HBO producer named Brook Silva-Braga after he backpacked around the world, it's surprisingly well done for something that was filmed with a hand held camera while living out of a backpack for a year.

Silva-Braga covers his journey by not only looking at the places he traveled but also the experiences and thoughts and impressions of the people he meets along the way. He looks at the hardships of such travel, living out of a single bag, sleeping in hostels, the emotional highs and lows, the challenges, and even has room for a little socio-political commentary along the way (but never in a heavy handed way).

Apart from the actual documentary, the extras on the DVD seem almost essential to the full experience of the film. In the extras he does post interviews with the main people covered in the film, including "girlfriends" and "best friends" he had along the way. It is interesting to hear their different, yet quite similar reactions to not only the film but also life after the road.

Such a trip is obviously not for everyone. There are some pretty big hurdles to get over before you could contemplate such a thing, not to mention the mental and physical aspects of it. For one, and probably the biggest obstacle--other than putting your life on hold for a year, would be the financial aspect. Not only would you need to quit your job, or somehow suspend it, but you would have to figure out how to pay your bills, etc. For most of us, it's a near impossibility.

The ideal situation would be to have no financial commitments. That is, no outstanding bills, no monthly payments, no mortgage, rent, phone bill, any of that. No pets, children who can't travel with you, any of that. Any relationships you do have would have to be the kind you could also put on hold--parents and siblings, basically. I would think it would be quite difficult to even entertain maintaining a romantic relationship while you "backpack around the world." Not too many people are going to put up with that kind of poppycock. Of course, you could do the trip together. As someone in the movie points out, such a trip would certainly be the ultimate test--if you could survive the trip and come out the other side still together you'd probably be together forever. On top of all of that you would still have to have some kind of "nest egg" that you could liquidate to take your trip. Silva-Braga spend about $20,000 on his trip. I'm not certain if that included his round the world ticket--generally between $5K-$6K.

I don't think I know anyone who fits this profile. At all. Maybe I've had students along the way who could pull it off. Trust funders, perhaps. Who knows. I can think of one person, maybe. If anyone could pull it off, he could--my old boss's son. He has the right profile, but I don't know about the funding. Maybe if his dad was feeling generous? Who knows. I can think of maybe two others who might benefit from such a trip, but the funding would be a hitch, methinks.

Either way, it's an entertaining and sometimes eye opening little film and I highly recommend it. You can't get it at Blockbuster or Netflix or anything like that. It's only available through the website, but it's only $15--that's one ticket to a movie and a medium popcorn, if you're lucky, so it's cheap in comparison. Give it a whirl. You'll like it.