Winter New (Cold) Moon
And so. Had lunch with Allison at the Walker. “Elvis has left the building,” she said when we met. Today at 1 pm I said good-bye to Jennifer and Paula, turned in my badge to the guard, picked up my coat, the attendant found it before I put my number on the counter, that’s how much I’ve been there of late, walked out the door and left the museum behind.
Not forever. Just till July 1st. But it felt like a definite parting, an end of something and the beginning of another.
It was time, too. I found myself impatient with kids on my first tour, 9 year olds, half of whom flocked to benches to sit down while the tour moved around them. I was short. Not helpful, but my toleration level for young indifference had reached a peak. Time for a rest.
When I saw Allison, we talked about the MIA, about touring, about her absence. She mentioned that no one made any to do about Tom Byfield, who resigned last week. Folks leave and neither the docent corps or the museum acknowledges the time and love they’ve put in over the years. Often, many years.
Something to consider.
We also walked through the Cindy Sherman show. Allison made an interesting point. “Who is Cindy Sherman? I mean, she’s about our age. Has she had work done? What’s she really like?” A Walker guard said she’s unremarkable in person. 58. It’s an interesting question. As a sort of performance artist, wondering who she is raises questions of the nature of reality and the ability of artists to manipulate it.
After lunch, I drove home through the mist and grunge off the highway kicked up a filthy spray onto the windshield. In January. In Minnesota. Guess we gotta get used to it or move.
