It has come to my attention that my last few posts have been fairly dreary affairs. Musings on my advanced age, suburban ennui, the ills of our gun-toting society and scars from my youth do not make for pleasant reading. (Although my comment section has been on fire, so perhaps that’s what people prefer.)
Going forward, I’ll leave that stuff to Jimmy Bastard. (May he return to us soon.) As penance, I offer this photo montage of our recent trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We visited specifically to see the annual summer rooftop sculpture extravaganza, but I’ll leave that for another post. Here’s the flotsam and jetsam that I found in my iPhone when I got back to New Jersey.
In this accidental perspective, John Graham’s Celia seems to be patting 6-Year Old on top of her head. Noguchi’s Louros is her dance partner and Calder’s Mobile stands in as the mirrored disco ball. I don’t think she enjoyed the museum all that much. She seemed bored at times. But I think the exposure is important. When she’s older, she’ll have a level of familiarity and won’t feel intimidated by broad-concept art.
I asked 10-Year Old why she was taking a photo of Monet’s Bridge Over a Pond of Water Lilies and she said she needed a new screen saver for her iTouch. The apple never falls far from the tree. That’s both good and bad news for her.
I’ve been reading a children’s book about the story of Degas’s little dancer to her for years. We must’ve read that damn thing dozens of times. She’d been constantly haranguing me about taking her in for a visit and this is her first look. As she gets older, wish fulfillment will become more complex.