Pretending to Be Cultured/French in Montreal: Part 1 - Art

As far back as I can remember, I've always been a huge fan of birthdays. Specifically, mine. As a wee midget rascal, I would make my parents jump through hoops in order to host absurdly, complex themed birthday parties. These included, and did not stop at, your basic princess party, (in keeping with racial stereotypes, I was Jasmine), a t-shirt designing party, a party at a mani/pedi salon, a party in a ballet studio, and a design your own ceramic pottery party wherein I almost got my head stuck in a kiln. I have always made a big deal over the days of birth for my near and dear, so when it comes to the day I was pushed forth, I usually expect the shit to hit the roof. In a good way. More like if the shit was confetti. Confetti shit? I DIGRESS. This year, having spent my entire summer being productive, employed, healthy, and engaging in altruism for the sheer joy of helping others, (otherwise known as none of the above, and more closely defined as watching TV and eating enough Bang Bang ice cream sandwiches to kill a small horse), I thought I would take my celebration across provincial lines. I begged my pal Joy to pop on over to fake-Canadian-Paris with me... Montreal!!

Not content with simply getting drunk and eating a bunch of chocolate frosting out of the tub while accidentally ingesting bits of the foil cover, I hauled ass to as many cultural establishments as I could jam in during our 4 day stint. This ended up amounting to two museums. One was half closed for renovations. A for effort am I righhhhttt?

We took in a gorgeous extended collection of sculptures, drawings, sketches, and miniature models by Rodin at the Musee de Beaux Arts, (which is on display until October 18th.) This exhibition included a room where you were instructed to close your eyes and use your hands to "see" the sculptures. Instead of behaving like a mature 23 year old human with dignity, this resulted in me getting Joy to take no less then 10 photos where I pretended to be blind. I will spare you the ghastly and wholly un-PC sight.

As the daughter of an artist, I have always thought of myself as entitled to an opinion on art, and pride myself in the self-anointed ability to discern "good" art from "bad" art. Now this is probably once again just me exhibiting entitlement, but you'll all be pleased to know that there was no bad art. Or brunch.

My favorite forms of art are contemporary and modern, and as far as my sensibilities go, the weirder the better. Enter the Musée d'art contemporain de Montréal. Things got weird, and fast.

Enter David Altmejd's exhibition, appropriately named "Flux", as that is what your brain will do in between extreme bouts of confusion and wonder. With a dark sense of humor and an appreciation for the gory and gloomy, by the end of the exhibit I was wholly devoted to Altmejd's decidedly untraditional forms of art. You too can stare at deformed crystallized facial sculptures, right up until September 13th.

My favorite piece from the Jon Rafman exhibition, as I felt it nicely summed up my life within the confines of a canvas. You've got mouldy sushi, Starbucks, my go-to brand of deodorant, Glamour Magazine, a bejewelled iPhone, and scented candles. Everything the modern basic bitch could ever want! (Shout out to ma basics.)