To all of my ex-students, I lied to you in the way back. I remember telling you that I had seen a work of art in the New Orleans Museum of Art that was entitled A Red Shovel on a Black Door, but that never actually happened. It was close to being the truth, but it wasn’t. Sorry, but that little white lie worked me wonders for years. Here’s what really happened and how the whole crazy thing came into being.
Ms Shannon Sullivan was one of my English professors at UNO (University of New Orleans) when I was 19/20-ish. I’m not certain that I remember the course she taught, maybe Contemporary American Drama or some such; however, I do remember Ms Sullivan’s Irish red hair, emerald green eyes, alabaster complexion with a sprinkle of oh-so-cute freckles, and those 26 year-old legs of hers.
For reasons both obvious and compelling, I took to this course like a Highlander takes to whiskey. Ms Sullivan and I hit in off in class and I began walking with Ms Sullivan back to her office after each class ended.
On one such back to office stroll, Ms Sullivan mentioned that there was a new modern sculpture art exhibit at NOMA and asked if I’d be interested in attending to meet her there.
Okay, she’s asking me out, but being safely coy by having us drive our separate cars. Not the ideal scenario but wholesomely acceptable. Throw in the fact that I didn’t give a shit about modern art sculpture, and this wasn’t looking too good. Until I looked again into Ms Sullivan’s emerald eyes.
I was there early, waiting on the steps out front of the museum and enjoying the view of blooming azaleas and the bronze horse’s ass upon which General P.G.T. Beauregard sat in perpetuity.
After graciously welcoming Ms Sullivan, we went inside to experience this exhibit. It was worse than I had imagined it could be, …except that she insisted that I call her Shannon, but not at school.
One of the first exhibits of “modern sculpture” was entitled, Marbles Eat the Other Sock. It was a small clothes dryer with a bunch of single socks and a handful of marbles thrown into it. This was one cacophonous work of art.
Another was A Noose with No Neck. You guessed it. This artwork was a noose, tied in thick rope, and hanging from the ceiling. Another was Leg Cast, which was a bunch of manikin legs lined up and angled to look as if they were bowing to the theater audience after a successful performance of Chorus Line. These were on a mock stage replete with footlights, spotlights and even a looped applause audio.
My favorite was entitled “Black and White.” Some guy had taken a telephone pole, a real one, full-sized, and broken it in half. Splinters and all, one half was painted white and the other half black. What I immediately thought about it was, “Wow, this dude broke a telephone pole in half. Cool.” But by this point, I was getting frustrated, Irish eyes and legs or not.
“Shannon, do you actually like this stuff? I mean, do you see it as real art?”
“Certainly. You have to look at the work, its title, and feel what the artist felt in creating it. This piece is about racism….”
“Oh, I know what it’s about; that’s obvious. But this artist, this guy….”
I read his name and laughed aloud. “This Running Bear Koslowski!? You’ve got to be kidding me.
“So this Running Bear Koslowski guy got a telephone pole, used some hydraulic machine to break the thing in half, bought a few gallons of paint at Benjamin Moore, and it’s a modern masterpiece? I don’t think so.
Hell, Shannon, I can go to any ACE Hardware store, buy a door, a shovel and some red and black paint to create a better art piece than I’ve seen here all day. I’d name it Red Shovel on a Black Door.”
Ms Shannon Sullivan was laughing haughtily at me and I joined in her amusement. She said something like, “You’re right, these are awful. Let’s go back to my place and I’ll fix us dinner.”
Thus, the legend was born.
That evening, Shannon and I talked about the red shovel on the black door and what it could possibly represent, symbolize, possibly mean to people. We came up with at least a dozen possibilities.
The colors are symbolic.
Black is ominous, sinister, evil and death. It is darkness, decay, and ignorance.
Red is life giving blood, which is also pain, bleeding and suffering. Still, red is love and brightness, a giver and sustainer of life.
The objects are symbolic.
A shovel is heart-shaped, also phallic. A shovel digs in order to plant, produce, irrigate, to give and to save lives. A shovel is also used to dig a grave when life ends and to cast down the dirt upon a coffin as a finality to life. With a shovel, we can do dirty work and keep our hands clean.
A door is both a beginning and an ending, or both simultaneously. It is an entrance and an escape, while it can exclude and protect just as readily. A door invites or allows no entry.
Thus, the passionate red and phallic shovel may or may not enter the darkly exclusive vaginal door. But this is only one interpretation. There are many more.
For the black door also can represent the grave: rectangular and as deep as any final resting place.
Michael Brown posed this question to me tonight. I hope I have answered it well enough.
You can take what I have explained here, mix and match to come up with your own satisfactory interpretation. Or, you can interpret as you wish, which is what I have always encouraged and taught you to do.
Like any work of art, be it film, sculpture, painting, lit, or music, the artist only creates it. The audience then has the responsibility to accept or reject it.
Remember what I always said, “Does this work for you?”
Thanks, Michael.
Global English Tutor - Paul Cuadrado 