Her powerful and provocative artistry fails to capture the hearts of those who don't quite understand her message. Often overlooked in the art world, Beyoncé has struggled for years to gain the respect of her peers. That all changes when she meets A...
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"Beyoncé...this is literally just a picture of horses. Why you actin' like this is some sorta Picasso or somethin'? Shit, Picasso ain't even that good either."
Guggenheim Museum was a bit quieter than I remembered it. The sparse weekday crowd meandered through the curving galleries, occasional whispers bouncing off Frank Lloyd Wright's smooth, organic architecture.
Even the air was quiet; still and sterile. Not a single bird chirping or car horn blaring in the New York air.
But the paintings and photos were a lot louder. They always were, of course. With the artwork being inanimate, their personalities had to be louder and brasher than their human creators could ever be.
I was never sure if that was their intention, but their bright colors and dramatic lines certainly drew the eye.
Flashy, obnoxious, attention whores, but many couldn't help but watch them.
Even more than the architecture of the museum itself. And even louder still was the redheaded woman standing beside me, who had apparently decided that hosting a live session on TikTok was required to voice her thoughts on every single piece of art she came across.
What stood out to me the most, though, was the canvas print I forced Solange and Arin to take pictures of me in front of. Horses. It was a photo of horses.
Not Kahlo, not Warhol.
Just horses.
And while my cynical mates did not agree with my assessment of this fine piece of photography, Arin did agree to take several photos of me posing in front of it.
"Would you relax for, like, two seconds?" Arin frowned and took a step back, phone still in hand. "I can't get a good picture of Bey while you complainin' in my ear."
Solange scowled. "You not even angled right, and both of y'all got the nerve to come for my skills."
Arin took a few shots, letting Solange inspect them afterwards.
"See, what did I tell you? The lighting ain't right—"
"What do you mean? You see this bright ass lamp over us? How is this not—"
"Oh, shut up, both of you," I sighed. Arin passed over my phone as Solange crossed her arms over her sweatshirt. Her belly peeked out from underneath it, the subtle protruding bump a reminder that a new addition to the Knowles family was on the way. And why her spirit was particularly testy lately, too.
"Y'all had to take me all the way uptown for this shit," she grumbled. "Ain't nothin' in the Upper East, but some rich white folks with too much time on their hands. Always lookin' at me sideways, too. Probably thinkin' I'mma steal somethin'."
