Kamala Harris Is Modern Art
One morning 20 plus years ago, I visited the Frick Museum in New York. I’m not one of these touchy-feely types that get all wispy and teary eyed over a beautiful sunset, but I was positively moved by the Renaissance art I saw that day. It was substantive, spiritual, skillfully created and timeless, representing the aggregation of a multitude of momentous events, western enlightenment and human experiences. Gravitas, but wrapped in a package of benign grace. It was as though some sort of divine light was emanating through the faces of each subject, clearly expressing an important message. No one had to tell me what each painting was about. That afternoon, I decided to take in some modern art, and strolled over to the Whitney where one of the celebrated exhibitions was a big pile of dirt on the floor. I’m sure the sign on the wall explained why the dirt was art and not just a big pile of dirt, and I’m also sure that many “identified” due to their self-perceived elevated status.
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