Friday with René
Over the past few months, Candace Lee Camacho has been working on a series of musical pieces inspired by, and in dialogue with, ten René Magritte paintings that are part of a special exhibition at the MoMa (closing this Sunday). I, along with a few other lucky individuals, had the pleasure of listening to the songs as they were in development. As someone who loves art, but sometimes finds it difficult to connect pieces beyond surface level appreciation of beauty, the idea of being able to view the paintings while listening to an artistic response was compelling. By engaging another sense, hearing, I was able to tune out the people jostling by and sharing their opinions and focus on my interaction with the works.
As I walked through the gallery I kept my earbuds in even if I wasn’t playing something at that moment. While moving from one piece to the next, I was able to stay in that little bubble created when the loop between me and the art was closed through the addition of an auditory element that wasn’t sharing facts on Margritte’s love life or brush preferences like a typical audio guide.
That isn’t to say that the audio guide MoMA provides is useless. However, I find that for people like me it is a crutch. As I look at a modern piece and try to grasp what in the world is going on, the audio guide provides me with seemingly easy and simple answers that pull my mind away from active observation into a place of passive listening. When presented with a list of facts it is easy to become comfortable with a piece of art. The who/when/what/where and, most perplexingly unless there’s an actual quote from the artist, why are laid out like evidence in a court case. There is little space left for wrestling with a piece when a historian tells you what to think.
Listening to This Is Not An Album (Ceci n’est pas un album) while walking through the Magritte exhibit was an entirely different experience. I was prompted by Candace’s music to explore and find evidence on my own, to find my own meaning and draw conclusions based on my experiences rather than those of whatever art historian wrote the audio track played by the MoMa guide. I found myself in conversation with the art, rather than sitting across a long table waiting to be handed answers.
Wrapped up in my own thoughts, I lost track of time between leaving the exhibit and exiting the MoMa. I wandered down to Rockefeller center and over to Times Square before heading home. I picked up a bagel at Absolute, taking note of the groups of young people just starting their Friday night as I was wrapping up mine.