On February 27, 2014, the Dresser sauntered away from the excitement of the Associated Writing Programs Conference and Book Fair in downtown Seattle and discovered that the Seattle Art Museum keeps late hours (open until 9 pm on Thursdays). This allowed her to explore "Miró: The Experience of Seeing" which opened February 13 and runs through May 26, 2014.
The exhibition includes 61 works of paintings, drawings and sculptures created from 1963 to 1981. These works come to this exhibition entirely from the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Madrid. Carmen Fernández Aparicio, Chief Curator of Sculpture, and Belén Galán, Chief Curator of Paintings at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía curated with Catharina Manchanda and Jon and Mary Shirley, Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at the Seattle Art Museum.
The Dresser was fully engaged by the exhibition's signature painting--"Woman, Bird and Star (Homage to Picasso)," an oil on canvas created between 1966-1973. It looks like a decorated version of set theory with two overlapping and wobbly circles in bright basic blue and red with touches of black, yellow, green. Wispy whirligigs spin on the top circle as if to suggest a boy with strange ideas. The circle below rests on what might be the head of parrot whose checkered beak is crowned with a kissing fish.
What really attracted the Dresser's attention though were the sculptures made from found objects but transformed by a lost-wax casting process that makes them look like patinated-bronze sculptures.
In Bill Yarrow's poem "Babble," the narrator describes a childhood landscape as alien or familiar as any artist might have lived which helped to free him from self. Thus "Babble" is an apt companion to the wonder of Miró's "little monsters" as the Spanish-Catalan artist described his work.
We had family copy of Isaac Babel's
stories out of which my dad would read
aloud when he was home, which owing
to this employment issues was very often.
I had no idea what I was listening to, but
that's just another way to fail to define
childhood, I guess. Anyway, the stories
were short, some just a page, and I let
my imagination sail away on some word
that jumped out at me (one always did)
and then, for those few minutes, I was
outside the battered gates of self, alone
in a city empty of rockets and God, where
I saw tower after tower of arrested escape.
by Bill Yarrow
from The Lice of Christ
Copyright © 2014 Bill Yarrow