Yesterday

I went to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Though the dry museum air only irritated the scratchy throat I've got, I wanted to make some headway on a research paper. It is (or will be) a critical look at how African art in the MFA is presented  in comparison to how the Western art is presented. So I stood, squatted, knelt before the objects and texts of the Art of Africa room taking notes for about an hour. The woman guard on duty tracked me, lingering behind me in suspicion.

(Pause to consider:  Why was I so suspicious for taking time?  Because museum visitors usually don't.  I usually don't.)

I didn't get all I wanted out of the room (yet) but you can only hover in one place irritating one person for so long. I explored the rest of the museum, without real direction, but made a point to visit some Egyptian rooms because, hey, Egypt is a part of Africa, but, hey, not really, according to the MFA's floor plans/visitor paths.

Anyway, I tried to take a look at a range of the rooms. But I got scared. And not even in the dark basement rooms with the actual mummies where people should get scared. Because those rooms were populated, because they're dark and intriguing and showcase death. I got scared in the doorway of a well-lit, light-walled, second floor room because it was empty. And I attribute it (along with certain series of nightmares) to this:

Of course the mummy didn't answer Bert's questions;  Delaware and bicycles didn't exist B.C. And you can't deny that that rendition of 'Rubber Ducky' is particularly haunting.  I usually identify with Bert, but it seems I'm stuck as Ernie in terms of Egypt.

Perhaps next museum day, more bravery.