You know why we all love the gift shop at art galleries? Because we all know what the hell the stuff in there is. Over there are the books. They represent a general willingness for humans to pay larger amounts of money for literature in gift shops. Over there are the fridge magnets and silk scarves, all with the most famous painting they have in the gallery – provided it’s not a nude. They represent a cheap instant gift solution, a way to hang stuff on the fridge and keep the neck warm. Over there are the kid’s toys. They are wooden because they are art gallery gift shop toys and they represent the exact thing kids don’t want because they are wooden and not from Marvel. It’s the same stuff from gift shop to gift shop, just the artist rolling in their grave at being on a fridge magnet or silk scarf changes out. But you know what? It’s awesome in there. Because we know what stuff is.
We know how long it’s appropriate to stare at a fridge magnet. We know we can touch anything. We no longer have to pretend to know what’s going on, we actually know what’s going on. We’re in an art gallery gift shop with highbrow art on lowbrow goods and that makes us feel smart. I’ll buy twenty magnets! And another scarf! Basically we feel the exact opposite from inside the gallery.
Inside the gallery there’s a drain on the wall. And it’s not marked with a label or anything that explains its meaning. So you lean in to see if there’s something on the other side, or video art inside you can hate on, and there’s nothing. It’s just a drain. Inside the gallery you cock your head at said drain so you can look like you’re really into it. You step back, contemplating this…um…great swallowing of the world? You put your hand under your chin. You know, like you’re thinking. But really you are just panicking. What if this is just a drain? What if some contractor just screwed up the placement of this drain? What if it has to be there for some weird building regulation? Is this the art or am I the fool everyone sees staring at a drain? And so you leave, and only then you see the label confirming the drain is in fact the art, but by that time you are drained, and you need to restore your confidence with gift shop tchotchkes. Tell me this hasn’t happened to you. And yes, that actually happened to me. Last weekend.
I’m a trooper though, so after a visit to the gift shop (I got key rings) I soldiered on to another gallery. There I was confronted with a warehouse space, and piles of boxes. Many, many piles. And in an instant the panic was back. Were those boxes art, or were they new art being unpacked? Were they symbolic of our transitory nature as human or mocking my life as a philistine? I moved to the next room where there was a shopping basket in the middle filled with building supplies. An Ikea shopping bag was in the corner. You see where I’m going with this? Yup, straight to that gift shop.
They really don’t make it easy for us these galleries. And I go gallery-ing fairly often. I contribute to their upkeep with yearly memberships because I genuinely love art – I also love the 20% discount I get, and never having to stand in the lines because no one ever painted cool people standing in a line – but every time I go to a gallery this panic seeps over me like Rothko seeping a canvas with color. And I see others too, scratching their heads, staring at a flashing exit sign wondering if it’s a Nauman, or a job for a repairman. In the same gallery visit last week I saw two teenage girls hauled off by security for touching the dust that lay around an artwork. The dust was part of the piece but the poor things did not know. No doubt they won’t be back to any gallery any time soon.
We all just need a little help. Labels close by telling us the name of what we are looking at. Arrows with “Exhibit Continues Here” so if we are in an installation that’s a pile of laundry, we don’t worry we are in the laundry room with a pile of laundry. Exit signs. Do not touch signs. Roped off areas. And explanations. Lots of explanations that make us fall in love with the work because we know what it is. I say this not because we are stupid. I say this because we want to be smarter. That’s why we have come to the gallery. To see the art in a drain. The draining of art. So help us out. Show us the diamonds in that dust.
I really want to grow up to be one of those older ladies who wears cashmere wraps in a gallery – they always wear wraps, it’s mandatory uniform if you’re over seventy – but I don’t know if my panic levels will handle it. To the MOCA’s, LACMA’s, MOMA’s, Tate’s, pretty much all of Chelsea and every downtown gallery, keep feeding us with all you can. But keep the pedestals for the artworks. Not for peering down on us visitors to your world. You make it harder for us to like you, and want to return. And personally, I want to die in my cashmere wrap having seen and learnt as much about art as I can, not with a fridge covered in magnets.
