I’m not much of a fan of Picasso, basically because of a single exhibit I went to see. It may have been just a quirk of what pieces happened to be there and how they lined up together, but there were just so many pictures and statues of women who, even with the cubist distortion of everything else, had perfectly spherical boobs. It just left me with an unsavory taste in my mouth. Felt a bit like objectification, felt a bit like “when you boil the female form down, it’s about these two things here,” than it did anything else… But I guess from that, I learned that I prefer portraits where I feel like I get a sense of the person being portrayed, rather than be reminded that I’m seeing that person through the eyes and craft of another… And those pieces of art didn’t let me forget there was a person behind their creation. Which I guess means I still got something from the art. Though I have to admit, I didn’t look into Picasso further after the visit. I just held onto my almost entirely uninformed initial impression.
I’ve actually always liked Van Gogh paintings. I didn’t know why, I just did. I found out somewhat recently that when I was two, I went to a museum with Van Gogh paintings. I was flitting from painting to painting, only giving each a second or two of attention, and then would just stand transfixed in front of the Van Goghs and stare and stare and stare at them. I guess I’ve carried that experience and that impression with me all these years!