"Yeah...I love art," I responded enthusiastically to Savannah's suggestion that we hit a museum before she heads back to Connecticut. I ignored the way she and her father rolled their eyes. Because I do. Love art. For some reason, we usually partner off in places like this. Brad and Savannah sidle off, like they're some big connoisseurs of fine art or something while Syd and I are only fit to enjoy the front of cereal boxes."Mom..." Sydney whisper-shouted, "check out this Warhol on General Custard." Okay. Maybe they have a point. "I think it's Custer, honey," I whisper-shout back, "General Custard is featured on the dessert-version of Clue." We paused by some Native American art depicting daily life, included dozens of horses, painted on a hide. We were silent for a moment before one of us, probably Sydney (because she's immature), said, "I guess they didn't actually own any girl horses." As we initially paid for our admission tickets, we (Sydney and I) were thrilled to discover that the third story terrace was open. We also made small-talk with the cashier who responded to Sydney's interest in the counter-side chocolate by sharing that it was made locally and was "delicious." Naturally, this chocolate will make another appearance shortly.
As we toured the third floor gallery, Sydney and I quickly divided the art into two categories. Category One: The I Could Do Thats (if we applied ourselves) and Category Two: The Nice But It's Time To Move On Nows. Blinded by the artistic vision of the third floor, we stumbled out onto the terrace for a little brain-break. We made note of the security cameras that were monitoring our possible suggestion of jumping the fence to sit on the wide roof ledge overlooking scenic Corning. Moving to the opposite side of the historic building, we had a heated exchange about whether we could successfully leap from the terrace to a neighboring building's roof. "If the fence were out of the way, I could do it," I argued. The sudden appearance of a museum security guard made us question if the cameras were equipped for sound.
Although the second floor lacked a terrace, it did sport a children's gallery. I played with a puzzle and Syd constructed art out of magnetic blocks. We caught a rare glimpse of Savannah who ducked behind a large sculpture and disappeared. Syd and I were distracted by a paper mache model of a cowboy riding a blue horse with a side-kick sheep riding behind him. "Look, Mom," my daughter said, pointing at the sheep, "he's wearing little cowboy boots too." We leaned in until Mr. I'm-Way-Too-Serious-About -My-Job Security Guard, cleared his throat like we were breathing on the Hope Diamond.
Syd and I retreated to a conference room (because our favorite museum room--after the terrace--had removed its comfy couches) to review the museum rules. "No pens...be considerate of cell phone use..." I glared at Sydney who had been engaged in an hour-long texting commentary on last night's "Game of Thrones" episode..."Oh! Here we go! Stay one foot away from the art." Well...so much for that. We were going to have to find something else to do. Enter: Gift Shop Chocolate. Asking Brad or Savannah for money was out. We were suppose to be looking at the art...from one foot away. "Making chocolate locally is kind of an art," Sydney said. True. We searched every pocket and came up with five dollars, two nickels and a penny. It was go-time.
"That'll be $5.39," our cashier friend said. Oh no. I sadly but politely explained that we lacked the necessary funding for this particular art project. "Let me help," a fellow patron stepped in. "Oh no, we couldn't," I said, clearly indicating that we could. I invited him up to the terrace for his portion of chocolate while Sydney reminded me how Daddy prefers I not date while married. As he fumbled with the unfamiliar coins, we learned that he was from Iceland...Sydney's dream destination so I pulled her away, reminding her that Daddy prefers she not date men over forty.
On our return to the terrace, we overheard one security guard warn our security guard to be on the look-out for (mumble mumble mumble). Sydney and I glanced at each other, horror-struck. Us? Were they on the look-out for us? We'd reviewed the museum code of conduct. Yes...you aren't suppose to eat in the museum but technically, the terrace doesn't count...does it? We gobbled down our expensive, locally-made raspberry dark chocolate with furtive glances over our shoulders. "Hey look," I whisper-shouted, reading the label. "It says the First Lady, Will Ferrell and Ellen have also eaten this chocolate!" Confident that we'd made a good decision regarding our museum acquisition, we began a thorough search for Brad and Savannah for our end-of-visit picture. "What could they possibly be doing," we wondered as we looked through endless galleries of art.
After forcing Savannah into a reluctant pose, we were ready. "Uh, Amy...you need to step forward a bit," Brad said. I glared at him. He knows nothing about setting up a creative photograph. Ignoring my glare, my husband pointed at the floor where a black rectangle corralled the sculpture that was the center of our frame. "What is that," I asked, frowning. "It keeps visitors a foot away from the art," he answered. Of course it does.
We finally exited the museum, culturally enriched. The security guards finally relaxed, emotionally exhausted.
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