Oh, man. Another
normal day with nothing exciting to tell you.
Other then some jaywalking and one security breach (not me
this time), today's trip to the Museum of Fine Arts is surprisingly
normal. As a matter of fact, it is
shockingly uneventful.
My friend and I find a parking space at Wellington Station,
the subway arrives almost instantly, we change subway lines without a problem,
get on the correct of five possible green line trains, find the museum without
missing a beat, no lines, no crowds, see everything we want to see, have lunch
up the street, hop the T back (which again arrives instantly), and arrive back at
Wellington without running in to any weirdos on the train.
Okay, a couple of funny things happen; well, I think they're
humorous, so I'll tell you and you can decide for yourself.
Almost instantly after entering the MFA, my friend sets off
an alarm that sends a security guard our way.
She is standing in front of the biggest painting we have ever seen, The Passage of the Delaware by Thomas
Sully. This canvas is at least twelve
feet by fifteen feet. (Okay, I looked it
up -- It's 12.2 feet by 17.25 feet. Good
guess on my part.) Here's how it all
gets started:
Friend: "I
wonder why this painting is so big."
Me: "To make it
life-size. (I don't know if this is
true. It's probably bullfrik on my
part.)
Friend:
"Life-sized? No, they're
larger than life-sized."
Me: "No, they're
life-sized."
Friend: "Let me
see!"
She walks over to the painting, gets a little too close,
strikes a pose like one of the guys in the painting, throws her arm up to mimic
him, and … BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! I move
away from her like I don't even know her when I see the uniformed lady heading
our way. I might even whistle a little,
you know, like Flick and Schwartz do when Ralphie's mother arrives to the fight
scene in A Christmas Story and hears
her son swearing his head off at Scut Farkus.
That kind of whistling. Some fast talking and several apologies
later, the cuffs are unlocked and my friend is free to finish the museum
tour. Good thing since we were only in
the second section.
We venture to the Samurai exhibit, which is only there for
four more days. It's really impressive,
with life-like warriors riding life-like horses and wearing life-like expressions
while posed in life-like movement. My
friend notes that some of the warriors on the display seem awfully short. I hold my breath wondering if she's going to
breach the laser sensors and stand on the podium next to any of them. I have to admit that if she were to do that
and get us in trouble again, it would be the coolest thing EVER.
We move along through the museum, seeing some stuff, missing
other stuff, me sharing what little expertise I have on such things as the
mummies Tabes and Nesmutaatneru, French Impressionism, and the
Copley painting Watson and the Shark. But mostly we are just having fun.
The Hippie Chic exhibition? You probably have better 1960's clothes still
hanging in your closet. As a matter of
fact, my friend and I recognized a few pieces of clothing as possibly our own
along with the groovy shag carpet we all had at some point. The music they have chosen is fantastic, but
the exhibition is tiny and doesn't really touch on the true range of styles
from the Age of Aquarius or the Flower Children. I'm not sure anyone who actually lived
through the 60's and 70's participated in the display set-up. I do recognize Peter Max prints on some of
the stuff, but so much is missing -- smiley faces, polka dots, big stripes, Dr.
Scholls wooden sandals, flowers in the hair, bell bottoms, white vinyl boots,
Twiggy make-up. It's worth a look but
not worth a separate trip -- If you go to the museum, though, definitely check
it out.
There is a lot of construction and revamping
going on, so we have to double-back in order to get to the Contemporary Art
wing. We know we will miss a lot of
things, but we see most of it. The
museum either needs to be done in a two- day tour or as a speed-reading
exercise. There's so much, too
much. We spend hours there and that's
even by avoiding the rooms full of pottery.
I would be completely remiss if I didn't
mention the two most impressive statues, though.
The first, a giant statue of Juno, is so
incredibly large that she had to be lowered in through the ceiling upon
delivery. There are pictures to prove
the story we have heard (downstairs from the security guard as we engage her in
conversation to prove we really do respect art and aren't just there to pull
shenanigans). Juno weighs thirteen tons or 13,000 pounds or something like that,
which is amazing. I also notice that she
isn't quite square on her pedestal, and I instantly become obsessed with the
fact that after all the work it took to get her here, the least damn thing the
curators could have done is make sure she's sitting squarely on the display
stage. She's in an Egyptian room, which
is kind of creepy since she doesn't belong there. Obviously it's the only place she'll fit.
The second statue we encounter in the
Greco-Roman area (where Juno belongs but isn't). This is the statue that garnered much
conversation when the seventh grade visited in June, but my group never made it
through that room (thank all the gods of every era for small favors). In the Greco-Roman exhibition, there is a
statue of a man holding up an entire bowl of fruit with his penis. That's right, you read that correctly. An entire bowl. With his penis. Fruit … with his … um … fruit. Oh sure, his arms have been broken off and
his hands are clearly visible on the sides of the bowl, but the floating hands
are just decoration. Honestly, his
impressive appendage is performing Herculean tasks of lifting and
balancing.
It's unnatural, it's disturbing. Of course my friend and I each take a picture
of it to snicker over later. We are,
after all, only so mature.
In the scheme of things, though, for us
anyway, this is considered an uneventful trip.
We've have one breach of security, share some history lessons, realize
our clothes are more museum-worthy than closet-worthy, decide that we are as
talented as some of the artists on display, and see a sculpted phallus perform
waiter duty.
You know, stuff most people see every
day.
I don't understand why people want to go
places with me. Nothing interesting ever
happens when I'm around. Wink wink,
nudge nudge. You know what I mean?
