My boss looked at my flower photos on my office wall this
week and told me to take a half day to see
"Painting the Modern Garden:Monet to Matisse", a special exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art. I like flowers, but impressionists? Eh.
Yeah, I know, a lot of people love them. It's just one way I'm a unicorn, but hey, paid time for art? Yeah!
(Okay, I'm salary and work too many hours so it's not like really
getting paid, but still.)
I parked far away because I'm too cheap for the parking lot,
and a nice looking man who's originally from India, now from Chicago, asked me
if the museum is really free. It is
too, but you've got to pay $18 for the impressionist exhibit. We had a lovely conversation while we hiked
to the front entrance where he held the door for me and soon disappeared.
I hiked more miles to get to the line for the exhibit, stood
behind crowds of people standing in front of paintings who were glued to their
museum-distributed hand-held devices. I
was getting cranky and my knee hurt. I
felt bad for the old people who had to get on and off the endless escalators in
the vast emptiness of the newly, and expensively, remodeled museum interior.
 |
More disgruntlement that they
closed access to the pond
and Rodin's "The Thinker" |
I have long-held grievances against the museum. I've considered lifting the feud since I'm
the only one who knows it's in place and it only hurts me. I even considered getting a museum
membership. Nope. Feud stays in place. I hate what they've done.
There's still lots of world-class art there, but somebody
has been "fixing" eyes in portraits so they look wall-eyed. I didn't see Edith Barretto Parsons' Turtle
Baby, I don't like the organization, it feels like a mall with gift shops
everywhere...
It wasn't always like this.
My dad was a cop in the area, and sometimes took me with him to work and
let me loose. He enlisted all the
security guards and policemen as my babysitters even though I was blissfully
unaware of this until I tested my boundaries one day and a cop showed up out of
nowhere to say, "Miss Hensley, I don't think you're allowed over
there." Oops.
I followed the rules after that. I sat by the pond and teased the giant carp. I helped archeologists mend broken
pottery. I stared at the Rembrandts and
felt my heart pound. I fell in love
with Jacques Louis David's Cupid.
 |
Some parts of the museum were left intact.
This is the style I remember and love. |
Sometimes I'm aware my childhood wasn't like other
people's. I lived in the lonely woods which hid the remnants of an artists'
community -- and once in a while I went to the big city without obvious
supervision to bask in the glow of the Masters and listen to the Cleveland
Orchestra rehearse for an audience of one.
I suppose it's no wonder I became an artist, but I suppose it's all part
of why I'm a unicorn too? An extinct,
mythical creature with magical powers.
Somehow, I think we're all unicorns. We just have to embrace that about ourselves
and hope nobody tries to saw off our horn.
Or remodel our home against our will.
BTW, most people seem happy with the special exhibits and
the remodeling. If you come to town you
should go to the museum. I'll sulk
quietly and smile at my memories of having the place to myself other than indulgent
docents and archeologists.
