Sit down, let's watch the orchestra. Wait, why is that guy with a black overcoat, with his back facing us, flailing his arms like a fish that’s suffocating on land? Is he okay? Oh wait, it’s okay, it’s the conductor.
Ruchell Alexander’s, The Conductor, is a prime example of how rules need to be broken for the sake of keeping art and music fresh. Music’s rules are arbitrary. Why do people make such an incoherent fuss about music theory?—English, please!? Additionally, why put so much care about lines and spaces in the music staff? And who even decided this was so—that this was the only way it was to be done?
If a music theory fanatic were to observe this painting, hung on a white wall, seven feet above the ground, with their bachelors in music theory and composition, with their nose raised to the sky, and their arms behind their back, they would subsequently turn around in disgust, absolutely appalled and livid at the heinous act that was committed: there is an extra line in the treble clef.
It’s plausible that Ruchell’s point is this: to confuse literate musicians and to incidentally make them question traditional schools of thought. Although this decision to make the treble clef staff continued is confusing—Ruchell is a professional musician himself—it raises the question of why he went against the norm. It could be assumed that Ruchell was frustrated with the plethora of rules set in place in the music world. Incidentally, Ruchell has been explicit with his distaste towards art school; he has always been the type to initially learn the rules and break them not long after.