Not night at the museum

There’s an old joke that Iowans tell: What’s the difference between Minnesota and yoghurt?

Yoghurt has culture.

Okay, with the rim shot out of the way, yesterday I decided I needed more culture than I could get from a bowl of Greek yoghurt, so I headed for the National Mall. Because I live in the District They Call Columbia for the nonce, I left my place at 0930 and got to the Smithsonian Metro station at 0940. It was bitterly cold, so I had to keep moving at a good clip for that 20 minutes. And when that time was up I was in front of the National Gallery of Art, so that’s where I went.

It’s hard to describe how therapeutic that choice was. Of all the options—American history, natural history, air & space, Sackler, etc., the National Gallery was just exactly what I needed. I could only spend a couple of hours there, on account of massive back pain, but since I live here, it doesn’t matter. I can come back. But for yesterday, despite the pain, I felt lifted up and renewed by walking through just a few rooms.

 I didn’t bother with a museum map, because it’s not like I have to hit the “must-see” galleries on one trip; I could let serendipity decide my route. And serendipity delivered, because pretty much the first room I entered was full of Rodins—not the major, large-as-life pieces, but small and entirely accessible ones.

A couple of my favorites (on this pass; they might change the next time I go):

“The Evil Spirits”—I don’t know the story of this, what, exactly the forms represent, or why, but I just love the way Rodin entwines them.

“Sphinx”—I’ve never seen this mythical creature depicted in so benign a fashion. Not to mention without the lion’s body.

And how about "The Hand of God”?

From Rodin I wandered through a photography exhibit, which included some work by Richard Avedon. I hadn’t realized that he did anything besides fashion and celebrity photos, but there was a series of the great and the powerful he did in the run-up to the 1976 presidential election that was stunning, including this shot of one of my heroes, Texas Congresswoman Barbara Jordan. Look at her fierceness:

And this “panorama” of the US leaders, military and diplomatic, in Saigon in 1971, which he called “The Mission Council”. It’s actually multiple photos that he put together with intrinsic fragmentation (allegory for the effect the war was having on the country), centered on General Creighton Abrams, commander of MAC-V, and Ellsworth Bunker, Ambassador to Vietnam. Well, South Vietnam, as was.

And that’s what the museum experience is supposed to do, isn’t it—expand your sense as well as your sensibilities.

In case this is your limit of culture vulturism, I’ll save some of my other pix for later and close out today’s post with a shot of the walkway between the east and west wings of the National Gallery.

Next time I go, I may just walk back and forth along this twinkling passage for a couple of hours for my cultural experience. Beats yoghurt.