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Have you ever been in a scenario where you have duped yourself into thinking you like something that you really don’t? I mean, like, convinced yourself that indeed you do like brussels sprouts because you should, because they’re healthy, and at twenty-something years old you should no longer be terrified of green vegetables? Well, the subject of this blog is going to be something like that – but different, because I’ve always loved green vegetables, especially brussels sprouts. No, this blog is about something else. It’s about art. Art in galleries. Or maybe just art galleries.

 

So please, Picasso, don’t take this personal. This isn’t even really about you.

I went to the AGO this Wednesday to check out the Picasso: Masterpieces from the Musée National Picasso. Running until August 26^th, I felt like the countdown was ON – Picasso is leaving soon! In fact, I planned to go last Friday but I checked out the admission prices: TWENTY-FIVE dollars (!!!). I couldn’t believe it. Luckily on Wednesdays admission is half-price. So I went Wednesday instead.

So did everyone, it seemed. There was a series of lines – a line to get in, a line to buy tickets, a line to enter the exhibit. I heard one Customer Service Rep explain that this was the second-last Wednesday that the exhibit was half-price. People are literally lining up to see Picasso’s works (at half-price).

 

It meant that the exhibit was rammed. People everywhere. Any time I wanted to stop and look at a piece, there were at least ten people doing the same. I’m not sure if this is the way to appreciate art. I had trouble doing so. I stood looking at Picasso go through Blue Period, to cubism to classicism, and by the time I reached the fifth room of the exhibit I was having some “Surreal Anxiety and Desire” of my own.

 

Because, the truth is, I don’t like art galleries and I never really have. But it seems no matter what, I still end up going. Because like brussels sprouts, I know that there is some good to it. And I know some people find truth and meaning and self-discovery in it. But the beauty of people is we’re different. As Picasso himself said,

“I paint the way some people write an autobiography. The paintings, finished or not, are the pages from my diary”.

And so this, in a sense, is my own diary. Picasso painted and I tend to write autobiographies. And let’s be honest – there’s probably good reason to indicate he would’ve disliked reading this diary of mine. So Picasso, let’s be friends? In the end, we can’t all be lovers of yours.

Catch the exhibit and decide for yourself next Wednesday, August 8th for the last half-price night, from 6-8:30pm. Visit for full-price with less people through August 26th.