Kindergard(t)en 2.0

Most of us grow up playing; it’s a great way of learning. In adulthood playing is a luxury, maybe that’s why some people say “let’s play” when they mean “let’s have sex”.
The idea of disguising playground for adults, make them look like something more mature, intellectual, was a great idea. What I find a bad idea is to use a museum space for this purpose.

For some adults, the museum is a spiritual temple, a place of recollection, meditation, contemplation, admiration for the few good things humanity manage to produce.
That is why, when I enter a museum (even of modern, contemporary art), I still expect to be face to face with works of Art, even if some rooms are occupied with unmade beds, sliced sharks, those kind of repetitive ready-mades that the world has seen ever since the Dada made a point. But hey, a museum might decide to show the malaise of the contemporary world so bring your crap inside, we’ll call it art.

But when the crap is actually crap actually, imitation of crap/poop/turd/shit whatever you prefer to call it, I want my money back, because the time I took to go to a museum and figure out that I must leave immediately, nobody can return.
You might say “why didn’t you read the website, see which event is taking place?”.
When you have a friend that you meet from time to time, even if he/she surprises you with something new, you don’t expect to meet Bob and actually bump into Donald Trump. I like to just walk into a museum which inspired me in the past.

The reason of this post is to say Yuck! This contemporary museum unpleasantly Trumped me with a playground for adults. Gigantic replicas of turds, polystyrene where adults can play with an excuse. Critics (many in numbers in the world, as job title, very few deserving the title) will serve you with the regular pompous words: come experience, top artists, challenge the notion of, juxtapose concepts, crap, crap, crap.
This museum even built a small pool on the roof to allow people to “experience rowing” – in a country full of canals, boats and a sea shore.
I will let the pictures speak for themselves but this time, all my thumbs point downwards. I wonder if any other museum will challenge the notion of puke, the one that some other exhibitions of contemporary art use as expression of appreciation. Will anyone expose my regurgitation?

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