The best times to visit art galleries and museums are on weekday mornings. You have it all to yourself – the entirety of the curator’s attention, the expansive space, the contemplative silence. It was in this selfishness that I visited Gilman Barracks on Tuesday (having exhausted most galleries and museum exhibits in the city area).
There was an exhibit by a Filipino artist on the “ordinary” where he featured street rubble and debris in a series of hyper-realist paintings and mixed-media installations in an attempt to capture the nature of which these entities go unnoticed due to their endemic ordinariness and familiarity to the world.
It then struck me as highly apt that a cleaner was mopping the floors at that moment.
In her complete negation in the eyes of the arts community (the curator hardly acknowledged her presence despite being the only two people in the gallery for the morning), she became one with the art installations.
Has the artist failed? Or has he merely made implicit the explicit realities?