"And that brings us to our next piece entitled, Condensation Cube."

When I was nineteen or so, I was introduced to Robert Frank's photography. I'd never seen anything like it, because I lived under a rock, and immediately fell under his spell. In typical Marcie fashion this meant I would do absolutely nothing about it aside from thinking of him from time to time for the next nine years. (Brad and I have a running joke about who my celebrity crush is. I pick a new one every time I see a movie I like because I can't remember who my last one was. This sums up my life. I can't remember what I like unless I'm reminded.)

Lucky for me, someone not only reminded me of Robert Frank's existence, but told me he currently has an exhibit at the MOCA. Well. Hot damn! I've always wanted to see an exhibit of his!

Brad and I went on Saturday. It was lovely to see his work and I was a happy camper that we went, instead of adding it to the list of things I spaced out on until it was too late. Now. As for the rest of the museum.

MOCA. Museum of CONTEMPORARY Art.

A common concern since the early part of the 20th century is the question of what constitutes art. This concern can be seen running through the "modern" and "postmodern" periods. The concept of avant-garde^[11] may come into play in determining what art is taken notice of by galleries, museums, and collectors. Serious art is ultimately exceedingly difficult to distinguish definitively from art that falls short of that designation.

Cough.

I may not be no educated art gal, but to me, there are two very distinct types of art. The type I can only dream of achieving and the type I could achieve. The latter, in my mind, not being art. This may sound harsh and everybody has a different way of expressing themselves and their vision and blah blah blah blah, but seriously. Don't put a tampon in a tea cup and put it in a museum.

Being in the MOCA was like being in a movie. A horror/comedy. A horredy. I was walking around in a daze. Blown away by what I was seeing and hearing, unsure if I was supposed to scream in terror or bust a nut laughing. My face was stuck somewhere in the middle the whole time. Eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a smirk, nose twisted, head tilted.

Long winded story short, I took the liberty of snapping a few photos, so I could share my confusion.