Guggenhmmmmmm......

Now. Modern Art.
Its a tricky wee blighter isn't it? One the one hand, I went to see a conceptual art fandango in the Tate just before crimbo which was the bloody egg's knees, (can't remember name of it, but it involved a room of sticky sand and lots of broken glass that symbolized our collective need as a society to- oh fuck off it was good alright) but on the other hand I do suspect we live in a world where Damien Hirst could do a massive poo, stick a sign in it that read 'you are all idiots. this is just a poo. A big poo I did. God I'm rich. Aha. hahaha.' and it would sell for about 8 billion pounds to a museum owned by someone named Lord Feeldlenip Bouncycakes. So you know. As I say. Its tricky.

I arrived at the Guggenheim this morning with no small amount of trepidation, as I considered my last-and only other- time I had been, which was maybe 5 years ago or so. Which had been a bit of a mess.I was being a bit unfair to be honest, it was a bit of bad luck of their part-The last time I went to the Guggenheim, a random porter had accidently spilled the complimentary sweets all over the floor, which made getting about the place a wee bit crunchier than I'd have liked. No one's fault really. Well. I say porter. What I actually mean is artist. After politely suggesting to a passing cleaner that she might want to do a quite whip round, she wearily explained that actually, what was currently stuck to my foot was Art. I joked that I'd never heard of the Mona Lisa being wiped off the back of someone's clogs. Apparently that wasn't funny. Still, I'm not sure many people can say they put a bit of the New York Guggenheim art exhibition in the bin on their way out. So thats good. In a way.

With all of this in mind, and determined not to be caught out again, I entered. And I was relieved. So very relieved. There were actually proper mental structures up and about, really cool shapes, very urban- probably a comment on the youth of today or something, I thought. I began enthusiastically taking pictures like a true Guggenheimian, as if to say I've been doing this all my life, really getting into my stride, when a security guard asked me angrily if I'd stop photographing the contruction site for the next exhibition and move into the next room. The museum was basically closed, he said, except for two smaller exhibitions upstairs. Ah. Foiled again by this place of confusion, dammit Art, you really do get on my nerves. If Tracy Emin had put a small cup of tea on one of those boxes I bet security would be talking out the other side of their (rather menacing) mouthpieces. Still. At least no one can call me narrow minded.*

(*What's even better about this was that, ok, maybe I did have a small idea that what was before me was not exactly 'art', but the second I started taking photos for the hell of it, a girl beside looked at me with a rather suprised expression, and then turned to the various boxes of metal and nails and began to photograph them too. Brilliant.)

So, with the inevitable embarrassment that this museum brings me out of the way, I was free to enjoy the only two rooms that were actually open. One of them was full of Kandinsky's Chagall's, Matissse's and other wonderful people who make beautiful wonderful things and places that I wish wish wish I lived in. They were so good I really have nothing to say about them. I think we all know by now that thats just not the way I roll.

However. There was another exhibiton. An exhibition by a woman called Julieta Aranda, who also had a collection. And when I say collection, I mean a clock, a radio and some UV paint. Literally. 3 items. oh and an hourglass I couldn't find. Bosh. Guggenheim. Jesus, being a genius is well easy. The explanation for this exhibition was so exhausting, extensive, and full of, if you will excuse my Hirst, shit, that I almost wish I could reproduce it for you here. But that would have meant copying it all into a notebook like a sad loser, and then typing it out labouriously onto the computer. and did I really care that much? Actually yes. Yes I did.

Now, this is only the first bit, as I was getting quite a few strange looks from people who evidently also thought it was bollocks and registered me as an adoring fan, but you'll get the gist.

'Challenging the perception of time as a linear progression marked by clocks and other systems (is there another 'system' for time apart from clocks?) these 4 works propose an alternative notion of temporal experience (gosh thats a lot to achieve in 3 items, I'm telling you, the 1st hourglass one doesn't exist) as a shifting and unquantifyable state. In an interstitial space near the museum's stairway, a peephole reveals the image of an hourglass, a traditional symbol of mortality. Viewed through the refracting optical device of a camera obsura (so, a 'lens'), the grains of sand appear to flow upwards in a startling reversal of time's passage.'

Ok. I actually had an hourglass that did that for real when I was little. My mum brought it home for me free from some medical fair, and it had something like 'sponsored by optifrax' written on the front. At the time (I was probably about 7) I remember thinking something along the lines of 'oh yeah thats cool. Cos its meant to flow the other way n that'. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this Guggenheim exhibit doesn't say much more than that.

Oh and the clock. Well, the numbers went up to ten. You know how the numbers are supposed to go up to twelve? yeah. the numbers went up to ten.

And the radio went 'nerrr.. ner. ner ner ner. nerrrrrr. nerrrr.. NER'- Perhaps the other, more arguably 'talent' based exhibition was no longer on the cutting edge of the business, but I can promise you one thing. No one has ever been irritated by the sound of a Kandinsky. This was very irritating, and upon closer inspection, I was told that it represents irrational beatings of a heart in a place where time doesn't begin to blah blah blah. It turns out that the irrational beatings of a heart are really annoying.

Oh yeah and the UV paint. When lights turned off occasionally, you saw some paint that said some words not exactly, but almost like 'when I miss you, I miss the you that me and you once missed'. or 'the flowers look different from inside the toilet'. You know the kind of stuff.

It could well be, and I'm by no means ruling this out, that I am, in fact, a twat. Evidently Miss Aranda did not sneak these in in the dead of night and security have just failed to notice (you couldn't not notice, 'NERRRR NER NERRRR') People have said things, men have nodded, money has done its money thing. So evidently some serious thinking has gone on here. The evidence in my favour, to be fair, doesn't look too good. But if I'm honest, If I had to choose between owning everything in that exhibition and keeping my optifrax paperweight, I'm going to go with Optifrax every time. Its damn clever. Flowing upwards, brilliant. Its really helpful when you're playing Pictionary. If I can get Optifrax a Guggenheim exhibition by next year, I bloody well will.