Conceptual art drains me. Sometimes the ideas are too complicated, cerebral for me to grasp. I often leave the gallery asking, “am I not smart enough, or is the artist over compensating?” Either way, the idea behind the object asks too much of me to care, and I am left tired and wanting.  Call me old fashioned, but I want to look at art and I want to feel something –– uneasy, moved, disturbed, uplifted –– I don’t care what, but I want to feel. Apathetic won’t do. Any accompanying material is there to support, enhance or debate my response. But the work should stand alone. And this is my issue with so much of the conceptual art we see today. That it doesn’t do that. I went to MOCA the other day, and I left feeling drained rather than full. The only work I was really taken by was South African artist, Dineo Seshee Bopape’s installation of crystals, herbs, dried flowers, seeds and stones. It was a meditative experience to stand so close to the work, an homage to indigenous people in Canada, and around the world. Tim Whiten‘s glass temple was exquisite, and I can’t say I didn’t enjoy Hiba Abdallah and Justin Langlois‘ funny and often bang on musings on disagreement. But overall, it wasn’t the experience I was hoping for. So, we live and learn. And each experience brings us closer to what it is we’re looking for. In art, and in life. The truth is, I’d rather spend an hour looking at Van Gogh’s swirls or Klein’s blue.