Amy Selwyn Photography

Courtesy of David Zwirner Gallery

Art can be intimidating, especially if you think that there is a correct way to read it. A lot of people feel that because they lack a background in art history they might not “get” what the work is trying to say, what the artist is trying to get across.

But I believe that’s missing the point.

Art is a question. The artist creates the work. He or she draws on influences and history, sessions with a therapist, a walk with their dog, voices in their head, a poem they love, the way their child looks at play…ad infinitum. And the resulting work is put out into the world, not being “about” something but capturing a an emotional state. A view of the private world, ultimately.

The artist aims for the viewer to see the work and feel something in return. Or wonder something. Through that viewer’s own eyes. If the viewer likes the work, all the better. The aim is for the viewer to experience something with the work.

There’s nothing to “get” or “not get”. Oh, sure, those with a deep background in the history of art will hopefully be able to trace influences and deduce references. But it is not required.

Ask:

How does this work make me feel?
What does this make me think of?
What are some of the features I like/dislike about the work?
If I stop thinking so hard and just respond with the first thing that comes into my mind, what does this work evoke?

I fell in love with an artist and his work this week. Someone I’d never known about before. His name is Felix Gonzales-Torres. He was Cuban-American. The work I flipped for is the featured installation currently on view at the David Zwirner gallery (West 19th Street location, NYC).

It is called “Untitled” (Sagitario), 1994-1995. Measuring 24 x 12 feet overall, the work comprises two pools of perfectly smooth, clean water, and it is 12 feet in diameter. It is displayed in a high-ceilinged white space and the feeling I had as soon as I walked into the gallery space was sanctuary.

The two pools of water come very close to one another but do not touch. They rest in stillness beside one another. The water is clean and suggests purification.

I learned that Gonzales-Torres died of AIDS in 1996, having previously lost his lover to the same disease a number of years earlier.

What is this about? Well, here’s what I believe it’s about: Connection. Closeness. The beauty of forms together. The tragedy that two such forms must not converge — a reference to AIDS. Memory. Shadow. Reflection. Remembering. Honoring.

And here’s the thing. Someone seeing this installation at the very same time of day and in the very same gallery might come away feeling this is a work about the preciousness and the healing qualities of water. Or maybe another will experience the work as an expression of loss. Or grief.

Each is valid. And correct, if we need to talk about things in terms of correct or incorrect. A scholarly background is invaluable for providing context, no question. But the emotional reaction and experience is individual.

I personally believe that when we confront art, when we experience it without preconceived notions or the need to instantly have an opinion (“I love it!” “I hate this!” Or, my fave, “A 4-year old could do this!”) we can have a fulfilling experience. We can ask ourselves, How does this make me feel? What I am suddenly remembering? And why?

AND, the artist him or herself (or themselves) will provide insights into the thought process. Regarding his work, Gonzales-Torres said this:

“Above all else, it is about leaving a mark that I existed: I was here. I was hungry. I was defeated. I was happy. I was sad. I was in love. I was afraid. I was hopeful. I had an idea and I had a good purpose and that’s why I made works of art.”

— Felix Gonzalez-Torres