My sister, Betsy, and I love giving each other tours at art museums, particularly modern art museums where the artwork is much more open to our “unique interpretations” interpretations so unique, in fact, that the artists themselves would be hard pressed to make sense of them.

A few of our bogus interpretations:

• A Jasper Johns lithograph of the American flag is actually about Betsy Ross’ unresolved feelings of color choice when sewing the first American flag.
• ​Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair by Frida Kahlo was to just to memorialize a particularly good haircut she received and wanted to preserve in perpetuity.
• ​White on White by Kazimir Malevich was painted on a tight deadline. He promised a masterpiece and just lied that it was done when it came time to deliver.

Once at the MOMA in New York, Betsy overheard a docent giving a group tour to 10 people. They stood in front of a massive canvas depicting pencils flying through the air.

“It’s very coming of age,” the docent remarked. The group nodded and sighed in agreement, “Yes, very coming of age.”

What does that even mean?

Naturally, Betsy and I adopted this phrase into all of our bogus tours and usually conclude with, “It’s very coming of age," to which we both wholeheartedly agree.

Of course, we need docents and other connoisseurs to help us see things we may miss. We benefit from experts, BUT we also run the risk of taking their opinions for fact.

Another common occurrence in art museums is to look at the description before seeing the artwork itself.

People will see if they can recognize a "good" artist, ie someone with a household name (Monet, Caravaggio, etc), before deciding if they think the art is good themselves. It's almost as if they are asking someone to tell them what is good to like, which disregards our innate experience of art.

Do you notice this too? What balance do you find to follow experts and also trust yourself?

IE SVI SEL DE AMVR LEL (I am the seal of loyal love) This seal dates between the 1200s and 1300s, and is one of the oldest in my collection. Usually bronze seals from this age usually aren't highly detailed. I love that they're nearly 1000 years old though, and carry meanings that still resonate today. The shape of this seal is a vesica piscis, which is created by overlapping two circles of the same radius equally. This shape was popular in early christianity due to its association with the ichthys, the fish-like symbol for Christ. This particular seal depicts the bust of a woman and has the French inscription, "IE SVI SEL DE AMVR LEL," which translates to "I am the seal of loyal love." Isn't it a beautiful motif for Valentine's Day?

The Iceberg Theory by Gerald Locklin

all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.
you'd think romaine was descended from
orpheus's laurel wreath,
you'd think raw spinach had all the nutritional
benefits attributed to it by popeye,
not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of
veriaine and debussy.
they'll even salivate over chopped red cabbage
just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.

I guess the problem is
it's just too common for them.
It doesn't matter that it tastes good,
has a satisfying crunchy texture,
holds its freshness
and has crevices for the dressing,
whereas the darker, leafier varieties
are often bitter, gritty, and flat.
It just isn't different enough and
it's too goddamn american.

of course a critic has to criticize;
a critic has to have something to say
perhaps that's why literary critics
purport to find interesting
so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.

at any rate, I really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in an Italian or roquefort dressing.
and the poems I enjoy are those I don't have
to pretend that I'm enjoying.

Details of the Cherub Seal (framed above)

With love,

Kay