Red Box

So I am reminded of this little trip I took to The National Art Gallery which is unsurprisingly located in Ottawa. I took my amazing class of grade 8's across the country, and this was one of the many stops on our journey. As we entered the gallery, the first thing to be noticed was space. And a lot of it. Groups of people were staring intently at splatters of paint on huge canvases. One canvas sort of reminded me of the last time my cat ate too many ferns and puked up gametophytes all over the carpet. The only difference was this masterpiece covered an entire wall. After studying my student's (justified) confusion over the intense attention paid by the gallery goers, and the increased security presence around us, I decided to take them exploring. To be truthful, with the amazing tradition of art in this country, I thought there just had to be something more thought provoking in this place. That, and I was pretty sure the secret service had already infiltrated my class. This small detail will make more sense in a little while. As we ventured upstairs, we were greeted with huge rooms containing very odd and confusing pieces of minimalist expression. A little red box, a row of bricks, and florescent lights in a corner were all that decorated a gymnasium-size room. Or there was the room with what looked like a pile of carpet strips randomly plopped down on a hardwood floor. As I walked out of these rooms something began to pull at me. "Why" was the question I kept asking myself aloud. Why does this little red box haunt my brain? The abstract nature and uncertainty in its meaning began to intrigue me. Maybe this is what art really is. Pure unfettered subjective interpretation. This was ambiguity at its absolute best. Perhaps the unknown is what is so interesting to our human minds. Sort of like looking up at the night sky and trying to picture the whole universe with all its possibilities. And that weird little feeling that comes with it. The famous "back-lit canopy with holes punched in it" so to speak. I think we could probably apply this abstract reasoning to any form of art, and perhaps this is why art is so universal. Anyways, as we walked further we saw more inspiring creations, some so complex it took an investment of time to make sense of the visual stimulation. It was also evident we were being watched from balconies, stairways, and every room we had just entered. I forgot to mention that it had become increasingly busy, with suits and gowns slowly invading the gallery. As I led my class to another room, a very concentrated crowd watched a jazz player tickle the ivories. This was a HUGE event. And we were unintentionally crashing it. Why we were even allowed to be in there blows my mind, but it was an amazing experience to be a part of. I gathered the class, and we piled on the big bus for our trip back to Kingston. As we sat listening to the radio on the drive home, the news added an interesting little tidbit. The art sales from the gallery we were just at had just broke a national record. Yes, you guessed it. We literally crashed a multi-million dollar art party. And it's all about that red box