This weekend Kristi and I saw the play "Art" at the Steppenwolf. It was a great show, examining the value of art and how relationships can be effected or impacted by the passion with which we look at art. As a creative artist, this topic held much interest.
One of the three men in this play comes home with a work of art for which he paid 200,000 francs. The work of art in question is a white canvas, with some slightly detectable diagonal lines. It's nothing. No substance, and it drives a stake in the ground with his best friends, one of which is entering into an ill-fated marriage, and the other, his art mentor who feels betrayed by the process.
The production raised some great questions. How passionate should we be about our art aesthetic? When our friends betray that aesthetic, and even do so knowingly, are they betraying us? How much of who we are is defined by what we like?
The interesting thing to me was that these were collectors, not creators. And yet at some level they were willing to die on the hill of their artistic principles to the detriment of their friendships. Or, perhaps that artwork was simply a straw that broke the camel's back and just happened to be the thing that sent them over the edge.
I have certainly felt passionate about art that I've created, but even then I have a hard time imagining such passion that would sacrifice friendship for sustaining the principle. Especially in a job where one of the skills necessary is to forgoe your personal preferences on occasion to bring into the field a different aesthetic that might be more mainstream and less "artsy"... (cue slide guitar)...
Good show. Well acted. Made you think afterward. Hard to ask for more from a theatrical experience, yes?
