One of the nice things about visiting art museums is that you might not only be able to view works of art hung on the walls or strewn on the floors, but also view works of art being created just about anywhere. At the Louvre in Paris a few years ago, I was fascinated with all the art students (or what I took to be art students) as they copied in meticulous detail the works of the masters, learning style, form, technique.
We were at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago today, having lunch at Puck’s restaurant. At a table next to us was a thirty-something woman, alone, who had finished her salad and fruit cup, still sipping her coffee. She had a small sewing kit on the table. I didn’t think much about it at first. But then I saw she was running a needle and thread through something – sewing on a button? darning a sock? Looking closer, it turned out she was lacing various colored thread through a dollar bill, though I wasn’t close enough to see if she was embroidering a pattern or wording, or if it was just a random abstract. But it had to be art. Didn’t it? Surely she was a student, honing her craft, fostering her vision? I considered going over to ask what her work was about, perhaps it was part of a series. But it struck me that I might have been under a false assumption, that she might not have been an artist at all, but rather a crazed defacer of federal currency. After a while, she packed up her sewing kit, put on her coat. For a moment, the stitched dollar remained on the table, and I thought for a moment it was meant as an elaborate tip, monetary art as gratuity – how great would that be? But she picked it up, stuck it in her pocket, and left. Leaving me in confusion. Which, come to think of it, is how I’m left with much of contemporary art.
