Thursday, September 21, 2006
DAY SIXTEEN: MILWAUKEE III
I am not at my best today. I haven't drunk red wine in a while and it prevented me from getting restful sleep.
Sonja and I go to the Milwaukee Art Museum, which is fantastical and almost ridiculous. The museum has wings on the roof that move at different times of the day, and the inside is like the exoskeleton of a whale. There is one large exhibition space. Every other gallery is rented from the adjacent War Memorial Museum.
Sonja drops off another copy of a piece she sold them—the first was damaged somehow or another. We get to see the Assistant Photography Curator, Lisa Hostetler, install the Saul Leiter show, a New York photographer I don't know. His photographs are somber, formal, and observant. He worked with color in the 40s, before William Eggelston.
Before Sonja teaches her large format class, we have coffee and talk about her family and Cain's—how different their histories are, and their different responses to trauma. Sonja's known Cain since high school. I am reminded how young they married. They are learning to operate in the world at the same pace I was 4 years... AND they're married. My mother was 23 when she married my father, who was 25. It's a wonder they remained married for as long as they did.
I retire to Sonja's quiet studio and give up trying to stay awake. Later I tackle the scanner problem with numerous technical support people and nothing gets solved. So I work on the lecture for tomorrow when Sonja returns.
We listen to a "This American Life" episode in which a woman adopts a young boy from Romania who received absolutely no attention in the orphanage. He suffers from Attachment Disorder and is incapable of empathic feelings for other people. At one point, the mother and son spend 8 months within 3 feet of one another, and slowly, slowly the boy shows signs of understanding his mother loves him. Even years later, the woman and her husband go through motions of treating their son like an infant, spoon-feeding him ice cream. The mother remains skeptical whether love can be taught, despite her son's turn around. The story haunts me the rest of the night.
We watch the season opening of "Grey's Anatomy," Sonja's one show, and she's in fits of excitement, then abject disappointment. I luxuriate in a bowl of Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, giving in to my sedentary lifestyle of the past month.
I am not at my best today. I haven't drunk red wine in a while and it prevented me from getting restful sleep.
Sonja and I go to the Milwaukee Art Museum, which is fantastical and almost ridiculous. The museum has wings on the roof that move at different times of the day, and the inside is like the exoskeleton of a whale. There is one large exhibition space. Every other gallery is rented from the adjacent War Memorial Museum.
Sonja drops off another copy of a piece she sold them—the first was damaged somehow or another. We get to see the Assistant Photography Curator, Lisa Hostetler, install the Saul Leiter show, a New York photographer I don't know. His photographs are somber, formal, and observant. He worked with color in the 40s, before William Eggelston.
Before Sonja teaches her large format class, we have coffee and talk about her family and Cain's—how different their histories are, and their different responses to trauma. Sonja's known Cain since high school. I am reminded how young they married. They are learning to operate in the world at the same pace I was 4 years... AND they're married. My mother was 23 when she married my father, who was 25. It's a wonder they remained married for as long as they did.
I retire to Sonja's quiet studio and give up trying to stay awake. Later I tackle the scanner problem with numerous technical support people and nothing gets solved. So I work on the lecture for tomorrow when Sonja returns.
We listen to a "This American Life" episode in which a woman adopts a young boy from Romania who received absolutely no attention in the orphanage. He suffers from Attachment Disorder and is incapable of empathic feelings for other people. At one point, the mother and son spend 8 months within 3 feet of one another, and slowly, slowly the boy shows signs of understanding his mother loves him. Even years later, the woman and her husband go through motions of treating their son like an infant, spoon-feeding him ice cream. The mother remains skeptical whether love can be taught, despite her son's turn around. The story haunts me the rest of the night.
We watch the season opening of "Grey's Anatomy," Sonja's one show, and she's in fits of excitement, then abject disappointment. I luxuriate in a bowl of Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, giving in to my sedentary lifestyle of the past month.
