On Saturday, the Tuna clan (with friends) headed for Detroit and spent a little time at the Detroit Institute of Arts. You would assume that for a ten-year old, an afternoon at an art museum would be on par with a day spent at The Institute for Paint Drying.
The Assumption of TinyTuna
You would assume wrong. She walked in like she owned the place. Granted, this is not TinyTuna's first visit to the hallowed halls. She's been there at least one other time with "College School" -- GreenTuna code for "PreSchool" -- which in and of itself is a long nightmare of a story for another day.
After walking through the current photography exhibit Detroit Portraits by Dawoud Bey (which was fabulous), TinyTuna grabbed my arm and whispered in that you must whisper in a museum kind of voice, "We HAVE to go see the Native American Art!!"
And we did.
Upon entering the room, she took me over to the first display case holding various doodads (known in the art world as really expensive doodads). Then -- still in hushed tones -- she starts lecturing me on each and every doo and dad in the place.
... this is a tribal mask ... the people would wear these masks ... great celebrations ... the might chiefs ... yada yada ... yada yada ... doodad, doodad. ... This is a ceremonial bowl ... time of war ... the leader would hide his belongings ... take the bowl with him ... nobody ever knew ... yada yada ... doodad, doodad.
It was amazing. It was hysterical. She was SO SERIOUS that I nearly made myself sick to my stomach swallowing guffaws and biting my tongue until next Thursday. And the kicker is, for all the stories that she told about all of the Native American doodads and Asian doodads and Pacific Rim doodads and Islamic doodads, none of the stories were so far afield that they couldn't potentially be true.
And so TinyTuna and I walked through the museum, lecturer and lecturee. At one point, she stopped mid-sentence, leaving me in the dust as she took off for the far corner of the room. All I heard was a very loudly whispered, "LOOK! IT'S VAN GOGH!!" She said it with so much drama and excitement, you would have thought that Van Gogh was the Ice Cream Man -- -- Orange Creamsicle in one hand and Rocket Popsicle in the other -- ready to take her to the promised land.
The Assumption of TinyTuna
When I finally caught up, she proceeded to give me the rundown of Van Gogh and his ear. Or lack thereof.
I was hoping to make it out of the museum unscathed, monetarily speaking. I really should have known better. She got a couple of books out of the deal, as well as some other doodads. Me? I got a t-shirt of smiley faces rendered in different artistic styles.
I believe she's scheduled a lecture for my t-shirt for a week from Friday.