The Gates

I went to Central Park today on my way to school. After all the talk of, “is that really art?” I wanted to see Christo’s Gates for myself. I’m pretty liberal with my definition of art. If it’s a physical manifestation of someone’s creativity, it’s art to me. I don’t like when people confuse art with skill, though. Sometimes I wonder if portraits hanging in some museums are art. They are most definitely skillful, but are they art? Erm--maybe not to me. Unless, of course, I can justify the portrait or religious scene as the way that person perceived the situation. But it’s still iffy to me.
I didn’t know if I’d like the Gates, but I didn’t doubt its legitimacy as art. Christo had a vision and he shaped it into something sensual. So I went to partake in this great debate everyone around me was discussing. The Gates are an acquired taste, I decided. My initial reaction was that the color was so hideous I couldn’t look past it. By the time I was halfway through my walk, I couldn’t stop smiling. The Gates made me happy. And it wasn’t because I actually got a piece from one of those ladies with the tall poles topped with tennis balls.
The Gates are a bright, ugly shade of orange. They are boxy and not too aesthetically pleasing. But they sway with the wind, they don’t fit in, and they are the brightest looking things in Central Park in the middle of February. I totally love the Gates.