First may I say, I envy you, having “stood in front of that painting (Guernica) many times.” (I’ve only seen pictures.) Second, I’ll say, “Art matters to me.” Ka-BOOM! (I’m guessing, in your way of thinking, that eliminates me from serious discussion. How much does that hurt? Like the B-B that accidentally hit my thumb when I was a child: “Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”) Your exuberant barrage to my reasoned response was both reverberant & chaotic — like a pricey silver spoon caught in a garbage dispenser. My question, “Why?” We could “agree to disagree,” but I suspect that option is not on the menu. So I’ll say this: Guernica affected me. Yup, it did. Did it change the world? Nope, it did not. If I give a thirsty man a sip, I have not changed the world — but I have helped quench the thirst of that one individual. Same if I share a loaf of bread, blankets, shoes, shelter. Somewhere along the line — when the man, woman or child has sipped, supped & rested — they may seek something else. Something “ethereal.” That’s when I’ll share a song, painting or engagingly beautiful trinket. And that’s when “art” will matter — if only for a brief, fleeting, fragile moment.
