Real?

Realism is phony. Isn’t it arrogant of an artist to believe that he is painting reality? Reality is what is before our eyes, it is three dimensional. We can see it, taste it and feel it. A very talented artist can paint a very realistic painting of a bridge, and it could look just like it. Every detail could be perfect, every cable and stone perfectly drawn to scale. No matter how real this bridge looks, it is still nothing more than paint on canvas. I will believe that an artist can paint reality the day that he paints a bridge that I can drive over in my car.
I know an artist who works in realism, and believes that is the only true art form. He has an utter disdain for works of abstract art. He spends months and months on a painting, using his amazing ability to capture the world how he sees it. It infuriates him when he sees a “masterpiece” that is nothing more than two lines drawn on a plain white canvass. He cannot understand why someone would be more interested in looking at a couple of lines over his perfect recreations.
What he doesn’t see is that if he spends a month painting a perfect cityscape, a cityscape is all that he has created. People will look at it, possibly remark at the talent it took to create, and move along to something else. It is in abstract art that deep questioning and thought is created. An abstract piece of art is open to any and all interpretations.
Abstract art is like poetry, and realistic art is like a textbook. Realistic art takes an amazing amount of effort and skill, just like a textbook can only be written by someone who has a deep wealth of knowledge on the subject. Abstract art, just like poetry, can be done by anyone. A poem can consist of only one word, just like an abstract masterpiece can consist of a couple of drops of paint.

“Wow look at that painting of the Manhattan skyline,” Jeff said while standing right in front of the giant painting with his legs spread and his arms crossed. “Can you even imagine how long it took to paint this? This guy is a genius.”
“What you have never seen the Manhattan skyline before?” asked Jennifer, confused at her boyfriend’s fascination.
“I have, but never painted like this, it almost looks like a photograph.” Jeff replied with his eyes still fixed on the painting.
“Well maybe he should have just taken a photograph then, it would have probably saved him a year of his life, and it would have looked the same.” They continued walking down the corridor of the museum, and came across a canvas with two blue vertical lines on the left side of it.
“Look at this garbage!” Jeff said too loudly for the quiet museum halls.
“Shut up idiot, what do you mean garbage?”
“It’s just two lines, I could have done this painting when I was four years old,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, what do you think it means?” Jennifer said to him in an attempt to engage in an intelligent conversation about the piece.
“I think it means absolutely nothing and should not be considered art,” he said while starting to walk away.
“It may not be art, but it’s real,” she said to him, her eyes now fixed on the piece in front of her.
“Real? No sweetie, that is real,” he said pointing at the painting of the skyline. “This is a joke.”
“I hate to break it to you honey, but those aren’t buildings over there, they are paint, and they are the joke.”
“Well what are these then?” he said starting to get angry.
“These are lines,” she said to him almost in a whisper. “And they don’t try to be anything else.”