The Guard

 I read David Kirby’s poem “Pictures at an Exhibition,” which has this great ending line:

Where would museums be if every picture was the same.

With all the possibilities evident in that line, I am sidestepping it for a memory his poem conjured up. In a section of his poem, Kirby was talking about the guards in museums in various way, and it caused me to remember my grandfather did that job as a retiree. He would take the bus downtown and stand around the paintings at the Columbus Museum of Art in his guard uniform. What a splendid way to spend the day, right? 

His museum was the first I ever visited when I was 11-years-old. I remember some pieces of the day. It was winter. I was wearing a plaid skirt and a headband. I was wowed by art.

This is another gratitude I have for my family. Art and music and literature were important endeavors in their own right. That is something I learned on that winter day in 1967, and it definitely had an effect. I have visited many museums since. 

I returned to the Columbus Museum sometime in the 1980s with my sister-in-law and niece for a special exhibit, although I don’t recall the particulars. And now I’m wondering why all my visits to Columbus since my sister has moved there has not included a trip downtown.  

I poked around on the CMA website and searched through women artists. I found this piece of art to add to this blog. I wanted to connect something I might see there today.

Besides the guard, that is. That will always be my grandfather.