The Tate Modern

Perhaps the ever changing logo of the Tate museums is a testament to the spirit of modern art, but if I'm being totally honest, I don't really like it. I think it's confusing and kind of annoying to never quite know what I'm looking at. Sometimes different versions of the logo are placed right next to each other, and that just seems rather juvenile and silly, as though someone couldn't be bothered to either choose one or even synchronize which logo goes where. Maybe the different degrees of blurriness make a statement about the art the logo is supposed to represent, but if this is the case, they have failed miserably to communicate whatever message is being portrayed. I can't imagine what the blurred logo could mean...maybe the difficulty of some to interpret modern art? Maybe the difficulty to represent modern art? If this is the case, then why are the logos so similar? If I were to try to represent the difficulty in representing something, I would make it obvious, perhaps use blatantly different styles of logo, not just variations of a theme as is used in the Tate's logo(s). But, I'm not trained in art at all, so maybe I'm just missing the point...but then again, I am a member of the general public, and if I don't get it, they don't get it, so what's the point?

I was very surprised to realize that most museums in London have free admission. I had expected at least nominal fees, but the British museums seem to want to encourage exploration by everyone. I really love this! It gives me something to do in this horrifically expensive city that I don't have to pay for, thus encouraging me to go multiple times, and it's a place where I actually learn and get cultured and feel as though I've passed a productive afternoon. Going to a big museum in the States is, I think, more of an "event," for special occasions only. I've only ever been to the big Chicago museums once, on a vacation there when I was around 13, and while I remember being awed and amazed, I don't remember anything else. My sister and I had wanted to take a roadtrip to Chicago this summer to re-do the museums, but with both of us working full time, it just wasn't possible. I think here, the museums are much more accessible. Perhaps if the field museum was free and not $29 to get into, our road trip would not have seemed so daunting. It's one thing to take time off work to go to a museum, but it's another to pay almost $60 for two people to just get in, let alone eat or go to any special exhibits. Yesterday, I went to the London Aquarium, which charges a pretty steep admission, but I was able to get a discount for booking online after 3pm, for being a student, so I convinced myself to go. I was able to rationalize the 14 pounds I had to spend by reminding myself that I hadn't paid for anything at all yet, and I've been to lots and lots of museums over the last month. I love knowing that all that stands between me and a wonderful afternoon spent marvelling in a museum is tube fare, and sometimes not even that.

I liked the idea of Al Weiwei's "Sunflowers." I was very excited to see it. After seeing it, however, I am disappointed to report that I was underwealmed. I supposed the idea of a giant pile of man-made sunflower seeds is more enthralling than the realization of it. I think one of the problems I had with getting the most out of the piece was that the sunflower seeds were just not displayed to any sort of advantage whatsoever. I would have liked to see some variation or movement or pattern or something, but raking them into a flat layer really just didn't make it work for me. I think it could have been much more interesting if they were in a pile or just randomly strewn about. Had Weiwei's original plan worked out, with people being able to walk through the seeds, I think I would have loved the exhibit. As it is, while I understand the point about the individual among the masses, blah blah blah, I wasn't so amazed. The most interesting aspect of this piece was, in my opinion, the back story of how the seeds got made and painted.

I really liked the white walls of the Tate Modern. While I loved the rich color on some of the Tate Britain's walls, I felt that the white was perfectly appropriate for a modern collection. For example, I thought the bright green-blue painted on the Turner Collection's walls in the Tate Britain added to the opulence and lavish qualities of his landscapes. The color also nicely offset the gold of the ornate frames around his works. However, in the Tate Modern, the clean white walls seemed perfect to show off the more modern, varied works on display. The walls didn't color the experience, pardon the pun. Growing up, my mother never let my sister or I paint our walk-in closets or our shared bathroom, because she said we should be able to choose our clothes and do our hair and makeup without another color reflecting back on us. The white walls of the Tate Modern seem to mirror my mother's point: color is an experience in itself, and lack of color allows whatever is on display to do its job without interferrence.

I like the history of the Tate Modern's building. I think it's immensely appropriate that the place is an old power mill. There's something poetic and modern about repurposing a dingy brick building into a collection of art. I think the insides were ok, but I don't think I liked the layout as much as I could have. Perhaps it's because the original structure of the building imposed limitations, but I would have wished that the upper floors were more inviting, rather than doorways off a main room. Once I got into some of the galleries, it seemed to flow better, but stepping off the stairs and having to choose one room to enter was rather off-putting for some reason. I think I was a little scared to make the choice, worried that by choosing one doorway I would not have the chance to explore any others. I think the white walls again enhanced the space, making small rooms seem larger and brighter. I think the white was a wonderful idea, especially considering the building's history. Had the rooms been painted another color, I think they may have seemed more claustrophobic, but the white made everything bright, and even the windows seemed on display.

To choose my "object of appreciation," I had to just make a slightly arbitrary decision. I could have chosen many other objects, but I settled on one by Max Ernst that caught my eye. The painting, "Forest and Dove" from 1927 made me think of a Brothers Grimm-style fairy tale. I, of course, am always intrigued by birds, so the little red bird in a cage in the scary forest appealed to me. I love how ambiguous the "forest" is, with dark saw-like shapes standing in for conventional trees. To me, this ambiguity allows the viewer to insert their own idea of a scary forest into the painting, be it a dark city or forbidding mountains. I love the bird's stick-figure-like simplicity. The giant white eye draws the viewer in. At first, I didn't notice the lightly-sketched cage, but I think it adds a whole different level to the painting and the story behind it. As the plaque next to it says, I do get a feeling of both "enchantment and terror."