Snowed and Van Gogh’d by the L.A. Art Scene

Two works of art--literally--on display currently in Los Angeles have been attracting an uncommon amount of attention, both critically and commercially.

One of them is “Van Gogh’s Van Goghs,” an extremely popular exhibit at the L.A. County Museum of Art, which features the paintings of--here’s a wild guess on my part--Van Gogh.

The other is “Art,” an award-winning stage play by Yasmina Reza that revolves around a painting that Van Gogh didn’t paint. I know this because the painting in “Art” is all white, and Van Gogh was the kind of painter who used paint you can see.

Now, a lot of people don’t know this, but I adore art. I am an art collector. I own works by most of the great masters--Renoir, Rembrandt, Red Skelton, R. Crumb, you name it.

Some of my paintings at home are near-originals and have been valued well into the low three figures.

Being an expert as I am--having studied with some of the art world’s most brilliant professors at my junior college--I feel qualified to evaluate why these two presentations have become such a big, uh, draw.

This is Los Angeles, remember, not Paris or New York. Some people still think L.A.’s idea of art involves a freeway overpass and a spray can.

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I first went to peruse Vincent van Gogh’s masterpieces, which gave me a chance to not only enjoy one of history’s great artists, but actually to use the word “peruse” in a sentence.

LACMA is showing 70 of VVG’s paintings, which are on loan from Amsterdam. I believe tickets are available through May 16, after which L.A. must either give Van Gogh’s Van Goghs back to the Dutch or give them 70 other paintings to be named later.

Some of Vince’s best stuff is here:

* “The Potato Eaters,” which is a remarkable painting that Van Gogh did during his carbohydrate period.

* “The Bedroom,” a vivid work depicting a wooden bed, a warped floor and a window in dire need of some Windex.

* And the self-portraits, and I mean a lot of self-portraits. Let’s face it, Van Gogh loved his own face. Either that or it was the cheapest model he could find.

Some of these self-portraits are mesmerizing, and bear an uncanny resemblance to Kirk Douglas.

No wonder art lovers are flocking to it like nothing since King Tut’s estate auction. I must tell you, this is the most impressive work ever done by a one-eared artist, with the possible exception of Evander Holyfield.

One quibble:

Exactly who decided to name the exhibit “Van Gogh’s Van Goghs?” As opposed to what? Grandma Moses’ Van Goghs? Vanna White’s Van Goghs? I don’t mean to tell LACMA what to do, but just plain “the Van Goghs” might have sufficed. Or even “the artist formerly known as Van Gogh.”

(Footnote: The exhibit requires only about 45 minutes of your time, or 50 if a fat lady keeps blocking your view of “The Potato Eaters.”)

Now, as for that other “Art.”

L.A. is lucky to have Broadway’s cast--Alan Alda, Victor Garber and Alfred Molina--in a comedy that drew raves in Europe before doing likewise in New York. It got tremendous laughs in Paris, even though French audiences were undoubtedly sad that it didn’t star Jerry Lewis.

The concept of “Art” is this:

A man buys a painting. He pays 200,000 francs (which should be changed to dollars in the American version, so more of us could understand whether he paid 200,000 bucks or 200).

Alda’s character thinks his friend who purchased the picture is a fool. He thinks this because the picture has no picture. There’s no there there. The canvas is white on white. If this is art, so is snow.

Garber’s character bought the painting. (I guess that makes it Garber’s Garber.) He likes it. He’s proud of it. I’d like to sell him one of mine.

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Years ago, I once went to a famous art museum, at which were hung not one but five paintings of all-black canvases. No trees, no lily pads, no Mona, no Lisa, no nothin’.

My friend’s wife and I argued all day. She called it art. I called it fraud. She said, “Everything in this museum is art.” I asked, “Does that include the men’s room?”

Morley Safer of TV’s “60 Minutes” often dabbles in this area. Morley’s like me. He thinks art should include . . . well, art. He thinks a rock is a rock, a pear is a pear and zero multiplied by zero equals zero.

I wonder if art lovers agree. Maybe they do believe anything is art, even white on white. If so, no wonder Van Gogh was always broke.

Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to him at Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles CA 90053. E-mail: mike.downey@latimes.com