She Was Art

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My Get Out of Massachusetts for Not-So-Free Card has expired once again. How was my trip to see James and the American Woman clothing exhibit at the Met? It was wonderful and then there was the “then some” part; I never go expecting what it will be like, because I always expect I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

When I arrived arrived at the Metropolitan Museum at noon today, I finally realized just how busy New York City is every single day. It took 20 minutes to get from my hotel to the museum, even though the way the cab driver drove made me think we’d be there in five minutes as my right hand clutched the door handle tightly. When I arrived at the museum, the steps, like the honeycombs in a beehive, were swarming with people sitting and chatting, making goofy faces while posing for pictures, eating really bad-for-you-but-tastes-so-good sausages, and dancing; I hadn’t even made it through the front door, and I knew it was my kind of place.

I joined many others who were walking up the stairs to enter. School children, people who were getting the senior citizen discount, and the occasional New York City tourists like me stood in the queue. I hadn’t seen so many people in one place since I attended the Police Concert at the Boston Garden in 1982 except no one was throwing tampons.

When I finally got to the admissions desk, I was told that a “donation of $20 was suggested.” Before I could say anything, the woman behind the desk asked, “Is that okay with you?” I didn’t know if this was their usual policy regarding admission, asking the patron if the fee was acceptable, or if it was something that was the sign of the dismal economic times.

I said, “Yes,” thinking surely this was a better bang for my buck than the price of a movie ticket; floors and floors of beautiful objects for only $20, deal schmeal! Then I thought, what if more businesses did this; would they do more business or lose more money? (Someone research that and get back to me!) Seriously, when was the last time you bought a gallon of milk and the cashier said, “The recommended price for that gallon of milk is $2.99. Is that okay with you?”

Anyway, I told the woman that $20 was fine by me. Then excitement got the better of me and I babbled quickly, “Where is the clothing exhibit and is there an audio tape for that?” She said, ‘Second floor, and yes,” and in two minutes I was “traveling straight down the hallway to Ancient Greece” and taking a “right at the column” to go up the stairs.

If I thought the outside of the museum was mobbed, it seemed even more crowded inside. In each hallway, there was a maze of people to “excuse me” by or to dart behind in order to move out of the way of someone’s photo op. The museum’s American Woman exhibit signs were sprinkled here and there along the hallway like bread crumbs; after following them for what seemed too long, I began to walk like my cab driver drove. “Get out of my way; there are clothes here that are waiting to see me!”

I put my headphones on, typed in 700 on the keypad, and like music to my ears, Sarah Jessica Parker began to speak. I could have sworn she said, “Ah, Jean. We built it, so you would come.” As the tape played, I was welcomed to Washington Square and entered the period of “The Heiress.”

The dresses were stunning, captivating, and, my, how we women have grown larger over the years. What intrigued me the most were the tiny waists on all the dresses; women were smaller then, but then I remembered that evil little bit of lingerie, even though most men probably don’t think there is such a thing as evil lingerie -- the corset!

After the Heiress came the Gibson Girl, and then I walked into the Bohemian. The Bohemian was the fashionable, independent, self-confident woman who was into the arts. I was one quality shy of being a Bohemian; well, let’s just say I needed to work on the self-confidence. Sarah Jessica Parker then interjected that if there was a society poster girl for the Bohemian, it was Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney.

Here she is on the cover of Vogue in 1917. Can you say “fierce?” Well, I’m sure she was fierce for 1917. An artist of the day stated that Whitney did not even need to pursue art because “She was art.”



The Patriot and the Suffragette followed the Bohemian, and then came the Flapper. Flappers had long legs and flat chests so said Sarah Jessica Parker. I then had a think and reassessed my exhibit clothing persona; I deemed myself a Flapper Bohemian when I wasn’t a Gibson Girl, or, what followed after the Flapper, the Screen Siren!

Once upon a time a few paragraphs ago, I mentioned that the dresses were waiting to see me instead of me waiting to see them; I sensed a few might have missed me. If I didn’t believe in it before I saw the exhibit, I believed in reincarnation after I saw the exhibit, which prompted one of my friends, who I practically took through the museum with me via text messages, to ask, “Do you feel like some of those belonged to your ‘20s former self?” I had to wonder; had I worn a flapper dress before or was it just that my desire to wear such a dress was so strong?

The only thing wrong with the exhibit was that there were not enough clothes. I’m sure for your average non-vintage-clothes-loving person there were certainly enough dresses. But, I was not satiated at all; I wanted more.

Unfortunately and fortunately, there was the rest of the museum to investigate. I spent another hour walking around wondering what Jackson Pollock was thinking when he painted and if Matisse was an overrated painter. And since I collect names (and now titles), I could not stop in front of these paintings without jotting down their titles because I found them so amusing: A View of Paris with Furtive Pedestrians and One Who Understands.

I was totally excited when I found a work by Claes Oldenburg. You probably remember my pilgrimage to see his big lipstick, which was a bust after I wrote about my life-long love affair with lipstick; who knew they took the big lipstick to Revlon for repairs? Anyway, at least I got to see something by Claes, and it was just as endearing to me as the big lipstick! (I really would like to meet Claes someday; I’m sure he’s got a great sense of humor like me!)

Soft Calendar for the Month of August, 1962



James was wonderful at the Rockwood last night. I got to visit with him and some of his friends after the show. And, as usual, I made some new friends.

I do love my trips New York City, because they take me outside the four corners that define my little square in the Rubix cube that currently seems to be my life. Upon my return, it always seems like I can flip another cube into the right place based on a feeling or an experience I’ve had there. It reassures me that eventually all the pieces will fall into place, making my life less of the puzzle it seems to be sometimes.

I know I said I usually only go to NYC for James and the Manhattan vintage clothing show. I had a think. Next time, it would be nice if it were for some other significant reason; I can only wonder and hope once again for the unexpected.

When I went to the café car of the train to get some water for the trip home, the woman ahead of me in line turned around and said, “Oh, my God. I love your top and your sweater. I was wearing my pink 70s embroidered Mexican top and a 60s cream mohair sweater embroidered with flowers.

She asked me where I got my “lovely” items. I said, always feeling as if it somehow lessened the treasure, “eBay!” She said, “I’ll have to go look there," and as I walked off I heard Sarah Jessica Parker say, “She was art.” ♥

Contrary to Popular Opinion The Goddess Doesn’t Control the Red Sox Note: I was told “I think you should also get some credit for the Red Sox teaching those sassy NY Yankees a damn good lesson in the Bronx last night!!” I doth protest! He said, “I know you don't control baseball but I'm certain that as a Goddess, your presence/influence extends further and into more areas than you realize!! I say take a little credit wherever you can get it!” Okay, I admit it then. I am the Goddess of All Things Lovely and of the Red Sox; however, I’m pretty sure that the Red Sox superpowers expire once I admit this to the general public.

The I Am Not Alone Note: http://www.slate.com/id/2254129

My Friend is a Fortune Cookie When He’s Not a Rocket Scientist, Cowboy, or Race Car Driver Note: “Your open heart is a blessing, but it brings complications with it.” Hmm. Can I trade that one for "A closed mouth gathers no feet" or "A conclusion is simply the place where you got tired of thinking?!" ♥

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