30 Americans, three kids & a baby in mismatched clothes

My Thinkers

To celebrate International Museum Day, and because it was free exposure to art is critical for the development of keen young minds, I dragged shepherded the kids to the "30 Americans" exhibit at the NC Art Museum. It's a total myth that they would rather have stayed home to watch "Jake and the Neverland Pirates."

On the way there I turned down The Wiggles Tchaikovsky and told them a little about the exhibit. "You're going to see paintings and sculptures by thirty African-Americans," I started in my Good Mommy tone.

"I can count to thirty," said Vincent. "One, two, three..."

"Is Africa next to Virginia?" asked Catherine.

"No," said Good Mommy. "It's a continent, like North America. Anyway --"

"Like Texas?" In our house, Texas recently lost the Battle-of-a-Four-Year-Old-Boy-Who-Insists-That-it's-a-Continent.

"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, twenty-ten..."

We got to the museum around twenty-ninety-two, approximately twenty-nineteen seconds before Good Mommy buckled under the pressure of taking three children ages five and under to the museum.

But let me back up, in case I'm coming across as a cultural philistine. I like art (okay, not modern art). I like the old stuff -- I'm a Pieter Bruegel and van Gogh kind of gal. I like art that means something, that tells a story that doesn't require that modern buzzword "interpretation." I like art you can look at and say, "Lookee them thar potato eaters," or "Just where's the groom at this here weddin' reception?"

Then again, when we got to the museum I realized I had dressed Dominic in a yellow shirt, olive shorts, blue knee socks and red shoes. So much for cultural sophistication.

Dominic: A commentary on Mommy's inability to match clothes

 

 

As I might have mentioned, entrance to "30 Americans" was free just for today, which was a good thing, since it took us less than five minutes to zip through the exhibit. I started off in Good Mommy mode, and whenever the kids would stare at a sequined painting/body with flowers for a head/illegible neon sign and demand, "Mommy, what's that?" I would employ my best Socratic method and ask, "Well, what does it look like to you?"

At an iron post topped with a rock -- that was wearing a wig -- Catherine scrunched up her face and replied, "I think it's a rock wearing hair."

"No, honey," said Good Mommy. "It's a cultural commentary on social issues."

"But it looks like a rock wearing hair."

In the middle of a nearby room Vincent had found a sculpture that looked like white insulation stacked to form a wall. "Cool," he said. "Are they knocking down the museum?" (he's been watching too much HGTV lately, particularly the renovation shows involving demolition and power tools).

"No, honey," said Good Mommy. "That's a cotton-bale and wax sculpture meant to be a commentary on labor."

"Maybe if we throw the hair-rock at the wall we can knock it down," he suggested.

The kids did fine at the Norman Rockwell exhibit last fall, and usually they are content to wander through the museum (which I love, even if it looks like a Coors warehouse). As most kids probably do, they gravitate toward the mummies, although they have yet to realize that mummies are dead bodies wrapped in cloth. I am avoiding the "brain through the nose extraction" discussion as long as I can.

But as we stood there staring at a painting called "Baby I Am Ready Now" which depicted exactly what it sounds like it depicted, I took the kids by the hand and morphed into Bad But Sensible Mommy.

"Are you ready to go see the mummies?" I asked. "I'm going to tell you something really cool."