Boston MFA

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Today Sam and I shrugged off our stacks of ungraded papers and went down to the Museum of Fine Arts, finally.


Although, honestly, I wasn't as dazzled as I had hoped. Maybe we just weren't in a art museum sort of mood. Or maybe it's because they're busy renovating and it's sort of confusing in there.


Anyway, we walked into the Impressionism gallery with tons of Degas and Monets and Renoirs that should have been, well, impressive.
Sam said, immediately, "Well this is boring." Did I tell you why I love that man? Because that was EXACTLY what I was thinking, but I never think I'm supposed to say stuff like that. Sam, on the other hand, is refreshingly free of filters. At least sometimes it's refreshing ...


Still, blaspheme, I know. My artsy friends have stopped reading. I guess I'm just tired of seeing the images I've seen 5,000 times. They are beautiful, yes. But I can't really SEE them any more, you know?


But the visit ended nicely. On our way out, we passed this security guard sitting outside an entry covered with thick black curtains. We popped in, and, voila: What you see above--Rachel Whiteread's Place (Village). 200 dollhouses, lit up, stacked like a tiny town. The houses were empty, the room was dark except for the lights from inside, and Sam and I were alone in there. Slowly our eyes adjusted and we noticed more detail. It looked more real. Magical. Eerie. Wonderful.
There was this particularly beautiful moment: Sam was leaning up against a white column in the middle of the room. I was standing a few feet away. And for a second it felt like we lived in those houses. Like we were kids out playing on the street. Or that we had never met, and I was looking at him with everything in front of us again. This handsome man, leaning against a lamppost, looking back at his house, then looking up at me, smiling.

Comments

kathy w. said…
How lovely is that? Wow.

Don't feel guilty about impressionists being boring. We went to so many museums when I went to Paris, that by the end of the week, I didn't want to look at paintings anymore. In the Musee d'Orsay (!), I asked my parents if we could please leave and just go eat some ice cream.
November 8, 2008 at 5:02 PM
Amara said…
Mmmmmm. Love it. Can you work that into a story or something? --that scene with the description of Sam. Seems a waste to put it in just a blog post. Love you.
November 8, 2008 at 6:33 PM
Elise said…
Finally. That is how England was for me most of the time. I'm glad to knowI am not a complete freak of nature.
November 9, 2008 at 8:49 AM
belann said…
Sure makes me want to be there again. I could even do the boring Monets.
November 9, 2008 at 12:00 PM
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