A Beautiful Deep Dive Into Our Worldwide Arts + Culture
| Back to Main Page |
|
|
|||
A Beautiful Deep Dive Into Our Worldwide Arts + Culture |
||||
JOE GOODE (1937 - 2025) |
|
||
by Gordy Grundy
One Sunday, after church, when I was very young, we went to the Balboa Pavilion for breakfast as we often did. The view of the busy harbor and Saddleback Mountain beyond the horizon were a beauty to behold. I was more enamored with the deep fried French Toast. The world was buttery sweet, untroubled and contained. I had no need to question anything. A bunch of nutty people in town were beginning an action, which would much later become the Orange County Museum of Art. They were hoping to bring the contemporary arts to a rowdy beach town. One of their first forays into culture was an exhibition at the Balboa Pavilion. Preferring to get home and play, my parents insisted that my sister and I stop to see the art show after breakfast. My mother, who adored the work of Norman Rockwell, thought the contemporary art exhibition was silly. Unthinking, I agreed, until we entered. Clearly, there were two artists. Their work was different, but somehow related. One dude had painted things that weren't worth painting. A messy piece had a can of Spam flying across the canvas. Another had a giant word 'Annie,' just like the newspaper comic strip style. The audacity of the bright colors transfixed and confused me. Why were these here, and why was I so attracted to them? The other artist wasn't as much fun. One piece was a mess of one color that seemed to pull at me, drawing me closer. The gallery attendant made sure I didn't get too close, as there was a hunk of metal, of a dirty silver color, in the shape and size of a common milk bottle on the floor. Somehow this object and the painting were related. We left. But questions lingered. On the drive home, my mother was aghast at the frivolity and insanity of this local art group. Even though the cabal were our friends and neighbors, they were truly destructive, anti-social bad seeds. Sitting in the back seat, I was not so sure. I played with their kids. How could....? I couldn't finish the question, but a question remained. And a feeling. Something else was out there. Something beyond the furthest ocean edge to the west and Saddleback Mountain to the east. My contained world suddenly did not feel right. On the car ride home, my new freedom was beginning. I have to thank Ed for the improbable and Joe for the mysterious. I have loved you ever since.
|
