In the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. it was the Degas room. If I recall there was a lush fountain on your way to it complete with skylight and delicate flowers. Sculptures, paintings, and sketches of ballerinas lined the walls and I thought that I would have pleasant dreams there. It was such a light room, full of pastels and little girl wishes.
In the Discovery Science Museum in my home town, my room would have been the gigantic wooden pirate ship. I could entertain my friends on the deck and raise my own pirate flag. But it sat right next to this dark cave and nothing good ever lived in caves. No doubt I would have had horrible neighbors.
I would have made my home in the National Museum of Natural History in the room full of rocks and crystals. The lights were low and dreamy and the rocks seemed to glow and sparkle like stars. Just outside sat the Hope Diamond, which is supposedly haunted. I wondered if I lived there, would I end up cursed?
And I think things like: Is there a restroom nearby? How far away is the food court? How early do the guards come? Would the sun wake me up in the morning?
I think my brain works this way because my mom read the book, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, to me as a kid. In the book these two kids, Claudia and Jamie, run away and live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. They hide in the bathroom during closing time, bathe in the fountain, and sleep in this awesome centuries old bed. Now that's the life!
A part of me has always wanted to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and see it all through Claudia's and Jamie's eyes.
What would it be like to live around such wonderful art that was so famed and remembered? What would it be like to pass one of Michealangelo's sculptures on your way to the bathroom or sleep in Louis XVI's bed? Museums make the world seem so big and at the same time so small.
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