But now I'm Singing Silent Night for the Rest of my Life on 2006-08-11
I went up to Central London this afternoon. For art, this summer, we're being made to visit the BP portraits at the National Gallery (Ithink) and to do a bigger section on mood portraits.
I hate art galleries. Not because of the art there, not at all, but the people who go make me hate it.
"Oh, isn't this painting so marvellous! Isn't it just so angelic! Doesn't it look just like a photograph! Don't those colours just compliment each other so well! Don't I look darling in these skinny jeans! Don't I look so arty! ...What did you say about that painting?"
They all have fake conversations about paintings they obviously don't care about. They're only looking at it, not what's in it, but just at it. And to be honest, the best paintings aren't the ones that look like photographs. Because, ohgod, I'd hate to be friends with someone who painted like that- they must be so stressed the whole time to make things perfect. I like paintings that look like paintings and that has something in it, not on the surface, but something worth looking for.
So many girls in my art class were like that after last years coursework. They kept on using massively long words to try and make themselves look smarter. I felt embarrassed for them.
I don't want to end up as someone who goes to art galleries and tries to up everyone else with shallow 'opinions'.
For crying out loud :|
Rosie xxx