Arty Farty

One thing is absolutely crystal clear
I don’t have the smarts for art
But when the wife’s commanding voice calls, “dear?”
I run along to play my part

We (actually, she) were invited to the opening
Of a swanky, snooty new gallery
Followed by an auction of certified paintings
So we decked up in our finest finery

Now I’ve been to many a museum
For my share of history and culture
I find both quite dreary and ho-hum
But I don’t have the heart – or guts – to tell her

The place was rather minimalistic and plain
With track lighting and frame after frame
Starched, white-gloved waiters with flutes on trays
Accompanied by nibbles and an array of canapes

I shook hands, air-kissed and tried to make conversation
I couldn’t, so I focused on the degustation
While the good folks discussed canvas, strokes and palette
I was figuring what worked best on tongue and palate

Frescoes, oils, enamels, acrylic and watercolour
So much ardour and fervour
Brushes, Renaissance period, ink on silk
Pity, I wasn’t one of their ilk

Picasso, Michelangelo, Rousseau
Vincent Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo
Klimt and the mustachioed Salvador Dali
Renoir and the multi-talented Da Vinci

Different schools and different styles
Abstract, Cubism, Impressionism
Modernism, Surrealism, Expressionism
To understand them, it would take me a while

I smiled broadly, although I was ill at ease
Not recognising a Monet from a Matisse
About Rembrandt neither did I know very much
Except that he was Dutch or such

Oh yes, I was pleased as punch
When I could recognise a Munch
His famous and iconic The Scream
Although, honestly, I found it a tad extreme

The masterful medieval Europeans
Met their match in the Indians
For every Rubens, Goya, Cezanne and Gauguin
There was a Jamini Roy, Gaitonde and Husain

Raja Ravi Varma, Jatin Das and Raza
Amrita Sher-Gill and Francis Newton Souza
Ara, Tyeb Mehta and Satish Gujral
The aficionados all in a thrall

Time was so slow in passing
I had to linger some more
Pretending to be admiring
The miniatures, Madhubanis and Tanjores

When it was time to be seated
I made it appear I’d forgotten my wallet
I made a show of emptying out my pocket
So that the dear missus would fall for it

If I had to spend on a painting for my walls
I’d give a kid some crayons to make a scrawl
Mount his masterpiece, hang it up in the hall
Who knows, he’d grow up to be an Andy Warhol

 

*Image from the net, belongs to Tezi Gabunia