We arrive in New York and I shiver as I read the temperature as zero degrees celcius. We unload our stuff and bundle up the baby in 27 layers of warm yum. (He didn’t need to move his arms anyway)
We decide at 10pm to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I decide at 10:03pm that I did not have on enough clothes. I walk anyway. Or maybe it wasn’t a walk.. it was more like an arm flapping skip hop walk. Next time you are in New York, stand at the beginning of the walk way to the bridge and look up. Incredible shot on perspective- visually delightful what all the cables present.
The next morning we get up early and bundle up again.
Zero Degrees Celcius is chilly. My family and I rushed from Tribeca toward the Met in New York. Excited to see “Glitter and Doom”
We scale the steps by 3’s to get out of the cold. My son in a BabyBjorn yelping in delight “bye bye- bye bye – bye bye.” We crash through the front doors and all eyes turn toward the heathen threesome clearly not from around here. The security guards give us a silencing look and go through our bags. Whoever you are- sorry about the squished up banana. Babies you know.
There are a couple of groups of humans who burst with life. Children. and Artists. It struck me how much it felt like we were in a church. That silence and a bowed head mixed with a solemness was the language of the day. Parents suuusshed their children. People talked in whispering tones. It seemed the opposite of what an artist lived or desired.
We were chased around the place by security guards. Do not hold your child above your chest. Do not let his feet touch the bench. Do not let him climb the stairs. Do not hold your child above your chest. Do not let him applaud. Do not hold your child above your chest. Do not let him play with the velvet ropes that house the all important line of people to the coat check room.
I am a Californian. All “our” museums have child’s play areas so they can run around for a 1/2 hour in between exhibits to burst with life. I was surprised at how few children were there and how uncomfortable folks seemed with a child’s loud “woof woof” each time he saw a dog in a painting. I person next to us shusshed him for saying “woof woof” (that was it.. just woof woof.)
I am not complaining. Noticing. I feel exhilaration when I see an artist’s work. I do not not feel a subdued quietness. I want to openly discuss the work – banter- celebrate its very exstence.
So we did. We ran all the way back to our hotel room where the weather is warm and the rules for babies include : clothing optional expected- carry your child however you like and maybe monkeys can’t jump on the bed, your kid certainly can.