Salt Institute’s opening reception of “undertow,” an exhibition of student works, is an annual reception and graduation event. I was determined to attend this one because 2 of the students were presenting their work on Maine Roller Derby, which I’m involved in. Of course, Winter was less than thrilled to attend.
“Are we going to be back in time for ‘The Simpsons?,’” she fussed. God forbid she miss a re-run she’s seen a bazillion times.
“This is art, Winter. We’re going to see art. That’s more important than cartoons,” I fussed back.
“Cartoons are art, Mum,” she said with such authority I almost forgot who the mom was.
Damnit, she was right. And she knew it. There was no way out but to pull the mom card. “Yes, but that’s not the point. Get your sweater, we’re leaving.”
Ha! Who’s the man, er mom, now?
We arrived to a lively crowd discussing the photos on display. I immediately sought out the derby photos, hoping to get Winter started on admiring something she recognized before we moved on to photos of hockey, tattoo artists and — oh my God — strippers!
I suddenly understood the porn vs. art argument that I’d never once questioned. Art is art, regardless of nudity, right? That all changes when you’re standing next to an 8-year-old gaping at a topless woman with her bony legs spread wide open.
I looked at Winter, who was completely unaffected. Surprisingly, she was more mature about viewing nudity than most adults. This might be because I’m anything but modest at home (though I’m not one to lounge around in crotchless undies).
“Hey Winter, let’s get some cake,” seemed to be the perfect distraction from stripper education.
After waiting for inquiries about naked photos and receiving none, I left Winter on the window
seat to devour cake and read the student projects she seemed so hell-bent to check out. With her engaged in cake and non-stripper literature, I could take a few moments to peruse the exhibit.
I didn’t get very far before I was approached by one of the students letting me know that Winter was double-dipping in the mango salsa. Crap! I had been in such a hurry to distract her from “The Simpsons” I’d forgotten to review public manners before we left. By the time I found her she’d moved on to the fruit plate and was picking through grapes. Good grief, the only way out of this — without a lengthy explanation — was to revoke snacking privileges and explain later. We needed to get home, anyway.
Geesh.
Should we attend another gallery event? I figure with a review of manners and a discussion of naked art, we should be all set for this week’s First Friday Art Walk.
Maybe.