The Weird Joy of Seeing the Police Drop a Picasso
When I was a little one, I try to remember becoming rushed out of the Museum of Modern-day Art in New York following attempting to touch an Ellsworth Kelly portray. I was puzzled when I heard alarmed voices as I approached the painting, hand outstretched. I could not connect the voices with myself, since what I was accomplishing seemed really sensible to me: I was captivated to a deep purple, so I wanted to contact it.
We do not dwell pretty easily with art. There are other forms of useful objects with which we coexist far more easily: sporting activities memorabilia, antique furnishings, musical devices, luxury watches and handbags. We tackle and wear and contact these matters, maybe due to the fact we have a perception of them as objects with some use or goal. But the standing of “art” normally elevates the object into anything with which we battle
