i went down to the art museum for history class today. one thing i'd been enjoying about not being an art major was that i no longer had to write exhaustive essays about paintings i didn't even like. unfortunately, my university encourages students to become "well- rounded individuals," and while i might be rounded off by a nice botany study or a chemistry experiment, it seems that the history professor feels we could all do with a nice hearty dose of modern art. i have to write a paper about world war-era art in a historical context, which might not be as difficult as i'd imagined. i did seem to have an advantage, at least directionally, over most of my classmates, who were either wandering around the medieval galleries or gaping at the warhols, all quite nice but irrelevant to the assignment at hand. after taking a few pages of notes, i used my finely-honed art museum navigation skills to help a couple find the german expressionists, then took an extracurricular excursion to american neo-expressionism and twentieth century design. i wandered through room after room of sex and politics and ultra- mod outboard motors, following a booming echo to a bill viola piece: a neatly made double bed, dark under a giant screen flashing what looked like an open-heart surgery gone terribly wrong. it didn't do much for me, so i strolled over to examine a nice painting of what happens when you spill paint. two elderly women, the sorts who hold hands out of necessity rather than affection, were shuffling along, following the rhythmic heartbeat to the dark little room. i watched out the corner of my eye as the slightly sturdier of the two slowly stretched her neck, peering timidly around the partition to see what was making that terrible noise... "good god, shirley!" her head retracted with surprising speed, like the hand of a child who has touched a hot stove. "don't even peek at that!" but surely shirley had to have a look. she stepped into the doorway, gazing with a sort of fixed admiration at the great gory spectacle pulsing overhead. i stared at the two of them there, the one centered firmly before the door, the other tugging at her hand, shaking her powdery head, powder flying everywhere, hovering like a swarm of minute lavender-scented insects in the crystal blue sunlight reflecting off the lake. shirley's lips were parted slightly, so that she looked as if she might laugh, cry, or croak at any moment. the other just kept tugging, whining, surely you'd rather go see the stained glass now, shirley. surely this isn't art. shirley. i giggled and tried to see if there was a nice cursive "L" on her sweater (this is milwaukee, after all) but i couldn't tell. it was another beautiful day, so i skipped out a bit early and went down to the marina, carefully pressing down my skirt in the cool lake breeze and stepping over goose cigars. ahem. these early spring days are the best days that happen until early autumn, because people are so appreciative. they smile, flying their kites, pushing their shopping carts, sitting on their porches smoking cheap cigars and sipping beer out of dewy silver cans. it's like someone stood up at town hall and said "winter's over, let's have a picnic" and everyone agreed. a whistling garbage collector, a geriatric stone-skipping contest, a laughing russian girl whose pen won't write, muddy water blues in a room that's no longer the color of split-pea soup, but of comical baby poop or a charmingly hideous spring sweater. you crack open a window, spark up a lucky strike, and suddenly feel that things are okay. kirsten http://www.care2.com - Get your Free e-mail account that helps save Wildlife! +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+