For my part, I think the best thing I overheard all day was, “Oh my god, is that a real painting?” spoken by, and god strike me dead if I am lying about this, a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl of that curious indeterminate age which occurs somewhere between 16 & 20.
Now, in her defense, I should say that this is taken slightly out of context. So let’s place it in context: I was in the Chicago Institute of Art and, more specifically, I was in the American galleries and, to put a pin on the exact place of my location, I was standing in front of one of the most iconic paintings in American art, American Gothic.
So, by now, I’m sure, you’ve realized that what she was really asking wasn’t, “Is that a real painting.” But rather is that THE real painting, as in, was that the original American Gothic or was it a copy of some sort.
Which I think speaks as much to society on the whole as it does about this single girl. She is, after all, at one of the best art museums in the United States and, arguably, one of the top ten in the world (I speak from experience here, I have, after all, been to both the National Gallery of London and the Louvre), what part of that context would indicate to her that the gallery would have a copy of the painting and not the painting itself? Did she stand in front of Hopper’s Nighthawk and ask if it was real? More importantly, did she ask where Marilyn Monroe was?
It is unfair, I suppose, to insist that she realize that this is THE painting. How many versions of American Gothic can one find? It has to be as ubiquitously re-printed and re-done as Mona Lisa.
Of course, in my defense the second most amusing moment originated from the same girl when she walked into the modern part of the American galleries (where it says in bold, clear lettering “AMERICAN GALLERIES” on the walls and doors), looked around and declared, “Oh, we should find Picasso here, right?”
And I think I’ll go ahead and end on that note.
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