Today a friend and I went to an art museum and had fun discussing various paintings and sculptures. And right as we were leaving a man came up to us and asked what impressed us most and my friend talked about the Warhol paintings. The three of us got into a lively discussion about what certain of his paintings meant to us, and he was appreciative of our perspectives. I said most of the works were about identity and how there is a facade and then underneath, the mystery of a human being perhaps never fully grasped by another. We are trapped in our persona and unable to be fully seen.
It was great fun to hear him surprise us by saying he docented in the museum and his groups couldn't seem to grasp what Warhol was doing. We were flattered.
Now I can savor the serendipity of running into him and the joy of sharing with a stranger a bit of passionate response to art. And then there was the Agnes Martin room, which I drank in and attempted to lure my friend into appreciating as much as I do. At least I introduced her to a fine painter. Satisfaction! Ah!
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