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A few doors down from the apartment there's an empty storefront. It used to hold a used clothing shop, but I think the Goodwill across the street drove them out of business. Good will, indeed. At any rate, the storefront is now empty...mostly. Shortly after Pope John Paul II last became ill, I saw the landlord place in the window a large portrait of said pontiff. As the Pope's health deteriorated, more pictures were added, as if death might be staved off with a sufficient application of canvass and photography. Then, perhaps out of boredom with a prolonged papal twilight, the landlord-turned-curator began adding...stuff. Odd stuff that doesn't really make sense together. A plastic breastplate from a child's knight costume, a stuffed snake, a unicorn and rainbow hook rug, a cheap silver-coloured fluer-de-lis platter, little statues of the sort purchased at drug stores, beads and baubles, and a stuffed, sparkly astronaut. It's as if he's gone through his home looking for anything shiny or colourful, whether or not it has any sort of value or aesthetic interest. This slightly bizarre collection makes the empty storefront one of my favourite spaces to walk past. I enjoy spotting the latest additions and trying to piece together what this impromptu gallery is saying. It makes a statement, however confusing, about the man who assembles it all. So I guess, in that sense, it's art. It brings joy, communicates humanity and raises questions. That's more than I can say for most modern art, much of which raises only one question..."Why?" |
