Dear ,
Sending you blessings and this thought: time is passing, let's get on with our lives.
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I reworked this article and am re-sending it, because I needed to read it again for laughter and soothing, thought maybe you did too. Thanks to all the docents out there.
One of my fantasies is becoming a docent at the Museum of Art in Balboa Park. I’m pretty sure the word
docent is Latin for “person who keeps humans from touching or licking anything priceless.” It also sounds distinguished, like someone who can pronounce
quinoa and mean it.
At home, I rehearse with my cats. I guide them past the dining room installation and say, this is titled
Mail I Meant to Recycle in January, and then for the socks skillfully left in the same place for several months ago, I’d point out , they are part of an ongoing performance piece titled,
Socks that Spell Out So? A tribute to laziness as poetry.
But I am enchanted by the idea of walking a group of humans through the centuries, pointing to brushstrokes, revealing why Van Gogh painted stars like they were audible.
And yet, I also know myself. I can’t go two minutes without adding something inappropriate when I have an audience, frowned upon in museum docent protocol. So I probably should stay away from real museums.
But look, you’re here.
I will take you on a very short tour as if you are in an art museum having a tour from a self-help author turned docent. Thanks for your willingness, stay close, behind the line, and don’t touch anything.
“This,” I’d say, pointing to a Monet, “is proof that blurry can be beautiful. So maybe your life isn’t a disaster; you’re just standing too close to it. Back up a bit. In fact keep going until you are in Canada, you’ll feel better.”
Fun fact, Monet painted the same pond around 250 times, which is either devotion or a long-term co-dependency with water lilies, so if you find yourself repeating unhealthy patterns, you are staying on theme with the greats. Welcome to the club. Magnets available in the gift shop.
At a Picasso, I’d whisper, “See? Pablo basically invented selfies taken when drunk. Or possibly he was drawing himself during an earthquake? Nevertheless, even geniuses have judgment issues. Surely you can do the same without regret.”
At a Renoir, I’d inform you that “his models were allegedly paid in pastries, which explains why every one of them looks slightly distracted by the smell of croissants.” I’d then invite you to draw me eating a croissant once we visit in the museum café which will happen shortly because I am quite hungry.
By this point, museum security would already be on their radios, so I would quickly remind you that curiosity and getting lost in a timeless expression is the antidote to collapse and a reminder there are beautiful things in the world.
You don’t have to understand art, just let it rearrange something in you.
So if you ever see me at Balboa Park gesturing wildly near a Degas and claiming I once posed for his,
Ballerinas Who Trip series, congratulations, you’ve discovered an unaccredited docent, deeply enthusiastic, accurate 20% of the time (and that’s rounding up), avoiding museum staff as to not get kicked out … again.
In creative nuttiness,
Jill
Zoom workshop for paid Substack subscribers and Underground Members, March 24th at noon pacific/ 3 eastern. It will be recorded. Link will be emailed and posted in chat.
$25.50 for anyone else interested. Zoom link sent upon signing up.
