• Stendhal Syndrome, II.
• Adventures among the medieval armor at The Met.
• Back in the LES for burlesque that doesn't suck.
I took myself out for brunch. Chicory au lait (only because my waitress was cute—otherwise, I would never have drunk decaf coffee: waste of water). Beignets. Already blogged about that. Moving on.
I went to The Met from there. Everyone had been telling me about the Turner exhibit, so I started there, knowing full well this isn't my kind of art. I was right. It isn't. I used my Stendhal Syndrome strategy: walk right on until a piece stops you.
I moved on to the photography exhibit. The early moderns are more "me." Gawd, I love some of Atget's and Cartier-Bresson's prints. I love Walker Evans' subway photographs.
Water Lillies, Atget
Versailles, The Orangerie Staircase, Atget
Hyères, France, 1932 , Henri Cartier-Bresson
Mexico, Mexico City. Calle Cuauhtemoctzin, Cartier-Bresson
Der Fotograf [The Photographer], 1931, Willi Ruge
From there, on to the Superheroes exhibit.
Then, the bookstore, where I saw a postcard of the painting that taught me about Stendhal Syndrome in the first place yyyyeeeaaaars ago. I thought the painting was in Paris or Italy. Apparently, it's here in NYC. I asked a guard where I might find it, expecting the guy to look at me with "How the fuck am I supposed to know? Even if you knew the title of the piece or the artist's name..." but he knew exactly what I was talking about.
And there it was. And there she was.
And there was I, again, having the same intense reaction to the painting. Shortness of breath. A smile and tears right below the surface. Nearly tangible tightness over sternum—like love.
Then, 15 minutes until closing time, I went up to the roof to see the Jeff Koons sculptures.
Coloring Book
Balloon Dog
..
Sacred Heart
When the museum was closing, guards began nagging me to stop photographing stuff (the photos above are not mine) and get in the elevator and leave the museum. So I did.
I mean, I did get in the elevator.
Then, other people who were in the elevator and I began walking towards an exit. I ended up following a guy who was walking in front of me, then lost him. Suddenly, I found myself alone, wandering galleries and looking for an Exit that wasn't cordoned off.
This is funny, I thought. I am alone in a closed museum and no one seems to care. You would think someone would have seen me via some camera tucked in somewhere in here. I walked past the medieval armors, resisting touching anything lest whoever was watching me on camera appear out of nowhere and begin yelling at me.
But no one came. I kept walking and looking for an/the exit.
—Hello?
— . . .
—HELLO???
Eventually, a door somewhere opened and out came a bunch of guards getting off work. I quickly walked over to one of the ladies.
—Hi. Excuse me, where...
—Oh my god! What are...?!? Oh god. What's your name??
—Tilda.
—Tina? Who left you here?
—No one. Why is she talking to me like I'm five?? She's at least five years younger than I am.I was with the last group coming from the roof, then I lost everyone else, and I've been looking for the exit, wondering how come no one was seeing me on some camera or something...
—Oh my god. Come this way. I'm so sorry.
She grabbed my arm and began walking with me...while still holding my arm.
—Um, excuse me. You don't have to keep holding on to me. I want to leave. You can just point me towards the door.
—Oh. Sorry. There it is. I'll come with you. God, so sorry.
(She reaches, then pulls her hand back, remembering.)
—It's OK. I see the exit; I can go from here, thanks. If it makes you feel any better, I didn't touch anything.
She doesn't let me go solo. No way she's letting me out of her sight now. I realize she and other guards can get into serious trouble because of me. She's freaked out. As I'm walking out the door, I hear her talking to another guard, "There was a straggler..."
I think this was the most thrilling museum experience I have ever had anywhere.
At night, I went with my temp housemate et al to a burlesque show at the Slipper Room . Glad it didn't suck. The best thing about the whole thing: The Wet Spots. You can see a video of "Do You Take It?" here.
The worst thing about the whole thing: looking for a bite to eat, ending up at a Mexican (?) restaurant, where I had the most bland, untacolike taco ever.
...Reason 1 to stay put in SF for a bit longer.
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