simple bliss
In my left hand, a book I've been meaning read for the past three years. In my right, a huge slice of the MFA's veggie pizza. I sink my teeth into the thick crust with the smug satisfaction of having absolutely nowhere to be on this Friday afternoon.
97-year-old oasis
The map said "Buddhist Temple Room," something which, in all my years coming to the MFA, I had never seen. It wasn't hard to spot; at the end of a long gallery of Japanese screens was a doorway to a room considerably darker than all of the others. Inside, the wall text said it had been designed in 1909 by MFA representatives who had seen similar temples while in Japan. Although it wasn't perfectly authentic -- the stunning wooden statues would normally be walled off from the masses -- the effect was enough. I stood off to a corner after entering, admiring the wooden cieling, the detail of the statues, the cool stone floor, and it wasn't until my eyes adjusted to the darkness that I saw the woman seated cross-legged on one of the wall's benches. Oblivous to me and (hopefully) the yelps of a toddler set free by his parents and the couple who seemingly could not detatch from each other in each of the galleries where our paths crossed, this woman was here for a reason beyond curiosity and an escape from the heat.
eating alone without something to read
It was crowded at the MFA courtyard cafe yesterday, and as I honed in on my creamy tomato soup, I couldn't help eavesdropping on the people sitting next to me; the tables were close together. To my right, a couple?brotherandsister? talked about art, and in my head, I was editing them. "I once saw an Andy Warhol exhibit. In Pittsburgh, you know?" [Editor's note: Andy Warhol is FROM Pittsburgh, so it wasn't an exhibit; it was a permanent museum]. "So do you like his stuff?" "Whose?" "Andy Warhol. Do you like his stuff?" [Editor's note: how the hell can you just say you like his "stuff" when it encompasses so much? Clearly these two weren't familiar with his early days as a shoe illustrator, or his disaster series, or the factory. Or, maybe i think about Andy Warhol too much]
The people to my left were two middle-aged women. I caught snippets from one of them: "He told us he had his first kiss on Cape Cod last summer. Of course it had to be the girl staying with us for a week; her parents weren't around. They went for a walk on the beach." "Kids these days know way more about sex than we think they do."
The couple to my right were getting up. "I say we look at one more painting, then call it a day."
[Real art lovers, these two.]
The people to my left were two middle-aged women. I caught snippets from one of them: "He told us he had his first kiss on Cape Cod last summer. Of course it had to be the girl staying with us for a week; her parents weren't around. They went for a walk on the beach." "Kids these days know way more about sex than we think they do."
The couple to my right were getting up. "I say we look at one more painting, then call it a day."
[Real art lovers, these two.]
