Last Sunday I was down in San Antonio, having spent the weekend with a friend. Before I headed back up the dreaded I-35 for home, I decided to take some time to drop by the McNay Art Museum to check out their show Miró: The Experience of Seeing.
Miró has never really been a favorite of mine, but I’ve come to appreciate him more, recently. I learned a bit more about him from an online class I took from MoMA, as well as a documentary I dug up on YouTube about him. He became more real to me, instead of (I shudder to admit) a less-important Spanish contemporary of Picasso.
So I went into the McNay exhibit full of curiosity, and with an open mind. I did enjoy it. One thing about this particular show — it emphasized Miró’s sculpture as much as his paintings. I thought the sculptures were okay. I’ll admit, they didn’t really speak to me.
But the paintings did. I found myself looking at them with a sort-of childlike glee. Especially the ones with bright, primary colors. They made me think that perhaps what Miró was trying to say was that it was okay for grown-ups to feel and express uncomplicated happiness in the way that kids do.
And in knowing that these were Miró’s late works, coming at end of a six-decade career after living through the Spanish civil war as well as the Depression and two world wars, that’s saying quite a lot.