Tate Britain: Conceptual Art

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The only way to travel between the Tates is via boat. The only fun way to travel in London apart from shank’s mare is by boat. You see a different side of the city. If i were to ever win the lottery, I’d want to live on the river (maybe in the next life). But on a warm June day I left the Mod behind and with the Eye of Sauron at my back headed to Millwall.

Though my aim was to catch the Conceptual Art show I decided to veer off into an indulgent lunch because it was a lovely day and I could sit outside. It was the right choice as I had a superb soufflé, lovely salmon and perfect potatoes.

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I associate the Tate B with my first real conversion to modern art, but also with Blake, Turner and the Pre-Raphaelites. Yet I still tend to think of it only after the Tate Mod, admittedly my fave museum maybe anywhere. Nonetheless there’s a consistent surprise in the offerings at the original location (not to mention impromptu amendments in the loo):

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The exhibit was good; I bought the book because I intend to make my senior seminar students create conceptual art (because it requires no trained draftsmanship of any kind). I took an orange from Soul City. I thought about a lot of potential projects. I remembered my timid attempts at conceptual art in grad school. I thought about the vast difference between what we can be and what we are and how that makes people feel.

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And then I watched a dance performance in the main hall with others who happened upon it. Art sometimes needs stealth to find an audience.

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I never know what art will appeal to me; I trust my instincts in general, though sometimes I wonder what it tells me, like I think this Michael Sandle sculpture appeals as much to some inner fascist impulse as much as it does to my drummer side.

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But maybe it’s just the brain responding to patterns…

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In any case, my orange was delicious.

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