Ceci n’est pas un Magritte

The retail Gods should have been well-pleased with our homage of yesterday. At least those deities who are responsible for sneakers. Today, we turned our attention to less prosaic activity and set out for MoMA at 53rd Street intent upon bearing witness to the Magritte exhibition and if by chance a few Warhols were to pop into our collective lines of sight – well we’d look at them too.

As any Crusade worth its religious zealotry does, we commenced our campaign with a visit to the Café and a couple of cakes with our superb coffee. I may have pointed out earlier that our party (now dwindled to two as number big son undertook his own mission to Barnes & Noble) was easily distracted by shiny things and whadya know – several shiny things managed to distract us from our goal. Firstly American Modern: Hopper to O’Keeffe, then Image of an Infinite Film and our plans all went to crap from there as we kept moving through Walker Evans American Photography, Cut ‘n’ Paste and a series of other rooms on the second floor.

20131030-230033.jpg Number big son had re-joined our crusade and we had to show him some of the wonders we had already seen, so getting off the second floor proved difficult and 3 hours had now passed. More coffee and a charge to 4th floor, wantonly dismissing whatever wonders the third floor held in an ungracious rush to the permanent collection and the modern masterpieces there. We had stumbled upon a gallery of John Cage treasures on 2, and here we found more sound and light and modern masterpieces – Warhol, Pollock, Lichtenstein, a bit of Dali, a dash of de Chirico – all the big names we wanted. Truly though, the film, sound and photography were highlights for me. And we never did see a Magritte.

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After six hours we headed down to smell the serenity of the Sculpture Courtyard and prepare to head on home. Of course, we had to exit through the gift shops – there are two and they are tasty.

MoMA day done for now. Upon reflection though, the day was won by the lady on the train who verbally laid into a fella who asked her for some change, after a heated exchange and a dozen bible quotations and a run down of the fact that she actually worked to get money, she yelled down the train after him, “a fool and his money are soon parted, Jackass. You wasting some of my precious air.” We joined the rest of car in staring resolutely at the interesting pattern on the floor.

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