Last Saturday, I went out to try a new approach to my increasingly regular weekend walks, which is to say I went to a place I had never entered before, despite working nearby: a fine arts university in Lisbon, Faculdade de Belas Artes.
I did not, however, go there by coincidence. A friend had asked me two weeks earlier if I had an interest in seeing their open exposition, where students placed their work throughout the whole building for anyone to appreciate for free.
I agreed to go, despite knowing I was about to enter a world which was not mine at all.
I'm cutting to the conclusion of what I experienced: I understood like 10% of the work. The rest was either visually appalling (even if I didn't really figure out why) or just plain confusing or disturbing. Fact is, I felt exactly like last November, when I visited the Museu d'Art Contemporani in Barcelona: completely ignorant.
And that was the whole point. To feel like what we know in our daily life is nothing but a fraction of what life is about. By exposing myself to things I cannot understand, I end up understanding I know nothing at all. Which makes me more curious altogether.
It's only natural to feel happy when you understand the point of a movie, piece of music, painting or any art form you may consider. I'm finding out I prefer the lack of understanding as a mental stimulator. Because I really don't know shit.
And neither do you.