I've always taken my kids to art musuems. Since they were in strollers or in baby Bjorn strapped to my chest, we've strolled through galleries, from Dali to DaVinci, we have always taken our kids. I think Frank Zappa had it right, although he was referring to age suggestions on toys, that you shouldn't ever assume what a kid can embrace and learn from. They aren't always super into it, that's for sure.
I was making my bed, and paused for him to come join me on the other side. "How come?" I asked, wondering where this was going.
"It wasn't what I expected," he continued. "It was sort of, junk. I didn't really like it. I don't get how that's art."
He shrugged. "I don't see what's so interesting in a junkie with a paint brush. I really thought it would be cool, I didn't like it at all."
The best part of the entire conversation was that my kid has some very real opinions on art. He's not mature enough to see the bigger vision of the art world but that's ok. He's 13 and he's having thoughts that I love, because it lets us engage on topics that will carry him through the rest of his life.
I'll always remember how much my own mother loved the Dutch masters, and how sad I was that she never got to see them in person as I did. Someday when I'm gone, art will still be on this Earth and he'll be able to share it with the people he loves, and remember what his mother loved. Maybe he'll get to see pieces I never did - and think of me.
I love that he didn't like Basquiat. But he SAW Basquiat. That's what matters to me.