So Not an Art Critic

Of the many things I am, some intentional, some not—wink, nudge, wink—an art critic I’m not. And I tossed about the idea [countless times] whether I’d offer a review of the Banksy exhibit attended last weekend. My comments would be far from profound or insightful. They’d simply (very) be.

And thus, so be it …

The exhibit is advertised as taking one to two hours. Mayyyyyyyybe—if you stand in front of the 161 pieces for an extended time. My new “temporary” friends (met outside as we enjoyed the sun before heading in) and I completed it in about 55 minutes. Tops. And we’d lingered before several works.

Everything within the Lighthouse Artspace was black—floors, walls, overhead ceiling, and fixtures—and the music somewhat loud. Nothing wrong with Lenny Kravitz’ wailing guitar [love it] but not everyone’s a fan of rock and/or high-volume music. Diffused lighting was fixed on the artwork and plaques providing details. A little hard to read in some cases [for yours truly anyway].

Though not inclined to take photos myself, I was awestruck by the many who did. And not just random shots—some were taking pics of every piece! How curious. But to each their own.

How wondrous to stand before and “admire” the more well-known Banksy pieces, smile wryly at “Banksy versus Paris Hilton” (he parodies her debut album) and sigh wistfully at “Dismaland” (a dire theme park you’d not want to take the kiddies to). I’m in awe of those who possess the gifts of satire and irony, and/or present tongue-in-cheek interpretations and opinions.

It was discomfiting to view war-inspired artwork and food-for-serious-thought messages, but one entitled “Napalm” had me rooted for several minutes: Ronald McDonald and Mickey Mouse hold the hand of a very young Kim Phuc, screaming and crying as napalm sheathes her frail body (she’s an exceptional woman I once had the humbling pleasure of meeting). Equally captivating was the video displaying his Ukraine murals. Seven, created in 2022, spotlight the horrors of war. That he’d traveled there to create these visual communications in solidarity with Ukrainians spoke volumes [to me].

The Art of Banksy was a revelation, a revealing. I learned a few things about Banksy not previously known, but not much; curiosity piqued, I plonked down before the laptop. If something—an exhibit, show, performance, procession, book—inspires further research, you have to applaud and label it successful.