I don't know representational art from abstract art. When we're in museums, I'm the Little Engine That Could. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can appreciate this art.



I know what I like when I see it. I stop, look and listen to my husband expound on the history of the artist.

A lot of art falls into the category of nice-to-visit-but-I-wouldn't-want-to-live-with-it. I like to know what something is meant to be so I can judge how good it is. How do I know a canvas painted white is good? When an artist puts splashes and splotches of paint on a canvas, how does he know when he's done?

My favorite paintings are landscapes. If there are people in the landscapes, I want their faces to be indistinct. This lets me put myself into the painting. With modern art I'd have to be a contortionist to do that.

I know graffiti is illegal art, my grandmother's watercolors are undiscovered art and the art on my refrigerator is undeveloped art. I suppose that's more than some people know.

When my husband and I moved from Virginia to New Jersey, he carried a plastic-covered, ficus tree into our hotel room so it wouldn't freeze in the winter cold. As an older couple walked by, I heard the woman whisper, "I'll never understand modern art".

Having seen art composed of baby food jars, stacked newspapers and string rolled into a giant ball, I have one rule. If I could do it, it's not art.

Recently my husband and I went to a museum-sponsored Q&A. One of the museum's curators discussed the art with the artist. This was followed by questions from the audience. For my husband's sake I didn't ask my question - "Does your mother ask when you're going to paint something happy?"

We also went to David Hockney's latest show. Instead of the insightful portraits I love, his new work is paintings of trees - large paintings of trees.

Who am I to question the work of a successful artist? However, the dictionary defines art as human creativity. Therefore, I'm an artist too. As a mother, I'm a human sculptor.