In which I learn a valuable (and pretty bleeding obvious) lesson about just how broad art is.
I stared at it for a while.
I couldn’t really stop myself from staring at it. It was a piece of such fine craftsmanship that it begged to be looked at. It was also the most absurd thing I’d seen in a long while. And I live in London, for fuck’s sake. This is the world capital of absurd shit happening.
But in its own way, it was absolutely gorgeous.
What was it, you ask?
It was a giant replica of a bulldog made entirely out of meringue.
I was at an exhibit in Central London, and this foamy hound was one of its centrepieces. Nothing abstract, mind. It was an exhibit on the history of a famous restaurant.
I was absolutely amazed by its sheer insanity. I mean, the entire exhibit was pretty good evidence on just how far some people go to create something memorable. But the dog. Oh my God, the fucking dog.
I can’t get it out of my head. It’s two days later and I’m absolutely obsessed with it. Well, not obsessed, but it has made me think.
It made me think about my attitudes towards art and craft (the art and craft of writing, in this instance). It made me feel like I wanted to take writing a bit more seriously. And it made me think of new ways of creativity, ways that I haven’t explored yet. The entire weekend (this and the reading at Sh!) was such a massive creative kick up the arse for me. For the first time, I actually learned from art, and I learned that art goes beyond a painting or a sculpture. There is art in everything. And that’s really bloody cool, that is.
Having said that, I can’t believe that it was a fucking meringue bulldog that made me realize this.