Word: Gallimaufry

gallimaufry

[ gal-uh-maw-free ]

noun, plural gal·li·mau·fries. Chiefly Literary.

a hodgepodge; jumble; confused medley.

a ragout or hash.

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               “That is not art.” Walt said.

               “Sure it is.” Becky replied.

               “No, it’s a bunch of random stuff stuck of a piece of paper.”

               Sure enough, the canvas hanging from the gallery wall did appear to be a jumble of items.  Bits of cut up plastic, scraps of paper, chunks of metal, pieces of wood and more were all arranged seemingly at random.  There was no paint, no planning, and no meaning.  At least none that Walt could see.

               “It’s modern art.” Becky said, stressing the second word.  “Just because it’s not a painting or a sculpture doesn’t mean it has any less artistic value.”

               “Becky, a five-year-old could’ve done this.  It’s not art.”

               “Well, that’s just not true.  A ton of planning and thought goes into a piece like this.  No way a little kid can do that.”

               Walt looked from his girlfriend to the canvas.  He tilted his head from side to side.  He could see no meaning in it at all.  It did not suggest an image, and it did not evoke anything resembling emotion.  Well, maybe annoyance, but that was not directly because of the piece of so-called art.

               “What planning?  The guy probably just dumped a bunch of glue on the canvas and threw whatever he had lying around on it.  Seriously, most of it’s junk.”

               “No way.  This is planned.  Deliberate.  The artist chose every item and carefully placed them, all to create art.”

               Walt huffed and crossed his arms.  He still did not believe it.

               “Okay, what’s it mean?”

               “Mean?”

               “Yeah, what’s it mean?  Art should have a meaning behind it, right?  So what does this one mean?”

               Becky looked thoughtfully at the piece of modern art.  She held her chin and hummed in thought. 

               “I don’t know.” She admitted.  “But it’s also not my place to figure it out.  That’s what art appraisers and critics are for.”

               “Doesn’t work like that.  Art, good art anyway, should carry meaning even for laypeople like us.  We should see it and be able to interpret it, even if our interpretation isn’t the same as an expert’s.  When I look at this, all I see is a big mess.”

               “Well, maybe that is the meaning.”

               “What?”
               Becky moved a step closer to the item and looked at it from different angles.  “It’s meant invoke a mess.  A jumble of things to represent our chaotic lives.”

               Walt blinked and looked at her for a moment before responding.

               “You just made that up because of what I said.”

               “Yeah, but so what?  It’s meaning.  And by your definition, that makes it art.” She said triumphantly.

               Walt opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.  She was right.  He had basically given her free reign to call this travesty art.  And he hated himself for it.  But, he was at least capable of admitting it.

               “Okay, fine.” He said.  “Maybe, just maybe, this can be considered art.  But that doesn’t mean it’s good.”

               “I can live with that.  Especially since we’re buying it.”

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 I wouldn't be surprised to see something like this in a modern art collection.  There's already some really weird stuff.  I've seen piles of glass, chairs, string, and a bunch of squares.  And that's just scratching the surface.