Log0007

An Ode to Boredom

I’d been taken on a date to the Museum of Contemporary Art. It surpassed my low expectations with dramatic fashion. While often contemporary art can be lost on me, I found myself both impressed and inspired.

But even in a great gallery, the best of the best, with masterpieces on every wall, there is always some level of utter boredom if you look for it. This can easily be seen through the eyes of the security guards. I love to watch them work. Almost the entirety of their shift is spent idly watching the few gallerists that might chance on to their assigned floor. With mind-numbing levels of stimulation what they are here to protect is irreplaceable, fragile, priceless, and I’m sure to many, boring.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have seen guards that love the artwork, they love the beauty, and maybe even, love the job. It’s just from my observations that they are a lucky minority.

And for those few that have figured it out, they’ve learnt that to really see a piece, to take it in, to understand the message. It requires time and attention. It demands a kind of boredom to stare at the canvas. Without it, the work is mere decoration.

If you’ve ever had a job like this you learn to watch the minutes go by, and then you learn to not watch them. The more you watch, the slower they go. But you’re bored. So you glance at the clock and calculate until your shift is over. This paradox of watching the clock only seems to slow time.

Working fractions; splitting the day into blocks, the blocks to hours, and the hours to achievable 5 minute increments. And then, the day is over. You’re out the door and in your car by 6 0 4. Exhausted and ready to start your day.

Perhaps your day even had a little drama. A young girl stepped over the line. A photo taken when there was clearly a sign. An old man shouting through his hearing aids, or a handbag exceeding regulatory size.

But really, the days go by drama-less. The paintings don’t move, the people hardly whisper and their guardians are invisible. Unless spoken to, the attendees can all but brush by without so much as a passing glance.

I think things must have changed though. The museums that allow guards their cellphones have transformed the occupational monotony. This tiny handheld luxury. A place to place attention. A fix, an accelerant. A way to pass the time without watching the time itself. Things change with distraction. No longer are they left with the tragedy of boredom. Now with morsels of entertainment compressing time, shifts go by quicker. The monotony is dulled. And their attention; diffuse.

So hopefully, no one takes interest in the art.