The permanent exhibit was closed, but there was no sign that warned us of this before buying tickets. The security guards were ruthless and militant. The exhibition halls were narrow and crowded with obnoxious Americans who walked slowly from painting to painting and clumped in front of them to talk about unrelated pulp. And, finally, the entire area surrounding the museum smells like a sewer.
I left the museum feeling like:
- I don’t really like Picasso
- He seemed to get worse and less interesting as he got older
- I don’t really care to find out if I’m misguided about my opinion so far
Kelly assures me that it’s more the museum’s fault than Picasso’s and that they neither adequately represented his evolution as an artist nor did they actually show many of his really good work. I believe her, and I’m sure the above will be a memory by tomorrow morning.
Something I forgot from yesterday is that I’ve found a new (for me) artist to follow up on. A French Surrealist named Yves Tanguy. I’ve always been a Salvador Dali fan—especially back when I was into Iron Maiden album cover art, and Tanguy’s paintings appeal to me in the same way Dali’s do.
It’s hard to resist such a charming face:
This picture was taken in 1936. I wonder if this was a typical hair style for Paris in the 30s. :)