I have, admittedly, some emotional connection to Dale Chihuly's work. From the ages of sixteen to eighteen, I spent the majority of my time in the Milwaukee Art Museum (more on this in a later post). I had two favorite pieces there that I would go visit on a bi-weekly basis. The first was a huge abstract expressionist canvas. The second was a glass sculpture by Chihuly.
When my very first boyfriend and I started dating, he (having picked up on my love for Chihuly) took me to an exhibit of his work and it was . . . remarkable. Of all of the art exhibits I've seen in the course of my life, it was one that stuck with me. I can still remember walking through the rooms marveling that something could both fragile and, well, exuberant.
The excitement I feel over walking into a new art museum (because, let's get real, that's where I spend my vacations) and finding a Chihuly can only be compared to the excitement I feel running into an old friend in an unexpected place. It's an emotional, physical reaction to the sheer loveliness of the thing, and upwelling of joy that I'm too much of a hack to be able to describe.
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