Ahh really, dad, another museum?!

When I was growing up, my father would often drag my brother and me to any one of the many museums in the Ottawa area. Equally, at age twelve when I accompanied him for a business trip to Washington DC, we spent two full days touring the Smithsonian. And of course, during many a family vacation, there was always a museum or two to visit. Though we may have dragged our heels and rolled our eyes on some occasions, I am happy to saw that the tradition of visiting galleries and museums continues today.

Located within the Golden Gate Park are the de Young Museum and the California Academy of Sciences. Though not quite on the scale of the National Museum of Natural History at the Smithsonian, the Academy does house many well presented exhibits and architectural features. Taking in the digital planetarium presentation, tropical rain forest, myriad aquatic features and living roof, I was shocked to look at my watch and see that I’d been there well over three hours. Time well spent, both for the knowledge and the nostalgia.

I must confess a soft spot for the masters of painting from the impressionist and post-impressionist periods. The beauty that comes from the simple techniques and limited colour palettes touch the soul like a child’s innocence. While producing such tender feelings for such mundane subjects, the period then shocks our sentimentality with the vulgarity of the geometric or a dot. It is the child who not only loses his innocence, but sadly yet boldly announces its passing.

The de Young had on loan a number of post-impressionist masterpieces from the Musée d’Orsay’s permanent collection. Seeing these pieces before me, ones I’ve cherished for many years, was such a surprise, so overwhelming. I walked in a stupor, choking back tears like a rebuked lover but still smiling like a smitten school boy.

Book-ended by the Academy on Monday and the de Young on Wednesday, I made my way Tuesday to the other side of the city for a tour of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Concerned about the neighbourhood where my bike was parked, however, I didn’t stay as long as I may have liked.

Built into the walls and woven throughout the collection was the feeling of being watched, of never being alone. Undoubtedly, the two exhibits Exposed; Voyeurism, Surveillance and the Camera Since 1870 and, Henri Cartier-Bresson; The Modern Century did much to perpetuate that feeling. Coupled with my own sense of worry for Irene, the whole experience caused me to feel a sense of paranoia, to keep checking over my shoulder. However, I guess that’s partly the role of art; to cause the audience to question, or feel a heightened awareness of, its environment.

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