No really, what gives modern art its value?

There are certain things on which I have no authority to speak about, even in short bursts. While these include the pain of childbirth, the benefits of a vegan lifestyle and intelligent decisions one can make in college, the one that comes to mind tonight is the value of modern art.

A few weeks ago, I visited the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art with a friend and she and I stumbled around making fun of each other and our complete stupidity when it came to the art on display. (In the interest of full disclosure, this was a friend of my wife's who was in town for the week and is infinitely classier than I am. She probably knew a lot more about post-modern art than she was letting on.)

For those looking for the virtual experience of going to such museums with me, just walk around your local modern museum and imagine someone shaking their head and repeatedly saying, "I don't get it."

Every third or fourth piece can be the, "I don't get it, but that's pretty cool." Every three hours, try to find a bathroom.

I mentioned that I had My Kid Could Paint That on my Netflix queue, but was wrong about the basic premise of the documentary. Instead of being a, "Hahaa! Fooled you!" story of a guy who tried to pass off his kid's scribblings as art, it was about a little girl, Marla, who was being hailed as a child prodigy after a few chance breaks fell her way and made her famous.

The story follows the family's trip to New York to appear on the Today Show and peaks with an episode of 60 Minutes where a few experts watch her painting on camera and decide that dad - a weekend artist himself - was doing some directing at least and finishing the paintings as a worst case scenario.

From there, there's a good deal of scrambling by the adults in the film and things get a little murky. I won't ruin the big finish for those who would like to see how it ends, but in the midst of all of this you have a circle of adults who are varying degrees of shady and it all plays out like an odd little drama. It's well worth the rental.

Here's the crux of the "value" argument - early in the film, one of Marla's big fans is buying paintings left and right because they're just... so... amazing. At this point, the paintings are going for $5K to $7K. A lot is being made about her childlike sensibilities and how those are transferred to the canvas.

This collector points to her favorite piece and says she bought it because it reminds her of being a child, it has vibrant colors, on and on. This is where things get confusing for me.

Are colors any less vibrant if Dad put them there? Does the emotion tied to being a child ebb if there was no child involved? If it was painted by an elephant, would the owner feel more like an elephant?

Big ticket: Is it the art or the artist?

One of the experts brought in for background - he's the arts columnist for the New York Times -begins the film talking about famous artists like Jackson Pollack and how their celebrity gave value to their work.

Safe to say, I'm incredibly confused tonight, but looking forward to the day I hand my kid a camera and make Ansel Adams my bitch.

(Image from: Blog.Wired.com)