Night(mare) at the Museum

A second.



A breath.



A moment.



A moment you can never take back.



I have two jobs and one of them is working at The Hugo Gallery and Studio. Its a rather unique art space because people can see contemporary art on display and also watch in being made. Select artists are invited to come to The Hugo and work on piece while the paying public watches from a safe distance.


The public watches from a safe distance.


I enjoy working at The Huge because contemporary art is an art form that I do not know much about let alone the making of it. The position took me quickly from being an uninformed member of the public to feeling like more an insider in the world of contemporary art. That dramatic progression in such a short amount of time made me feel invisible! Miss Direction: Connoisseur of Theatre, Opera AND Contemporary Mixed Media Art Forms. Huzzah! What else besides an MFA in Art could propel me even further? Why, volunteering to assist in the de-install of an important art show of course!



A second.



An assumption.



A moment.



A moment you can never take back.



So I did! Not only did I think that this was a great oppotunity to earn a little more money, not only did I think that this was a great opportunity to show senior staff that I was a valuable employee of substance; this was an opportunity to get closer to a very important exhibition than any lowly person of the public! Miss Direction: Art Bad-Ass. Huzzah!

The de-install involved moving many, many loved peices of Lars Griegs' famed ceramic work. Lars Greigs has worked all over Europe and influenced most ceramic artists working in America.

When I reported to work on my first day of the de-install I was very excited. Having worked in the theatre both on stage and backstage I felt that my hands-on skill would be perfect for the job. The director of the install is very very handsome and on-staff at The Hugo, so I was naturally aiming to impress him. But I pushed my fears aside and made myself available for any and all assignments. Miss Direction: Nerves of Steel. Huzzah!

So, when I was asked to simply, simply label one complex peice before we officially started the de-install I thought "yikes!... but no problem!" The peice consisted of 38 ceramic Canadian geese suspended from fishing wire over the polished cement of the gallery floor.


A second.



A breath.



A moment.



A moment you can never take back.



I broke two peices.


The inside of my wrist lightly brushed the top of one of the birds and it fell
down
down
down
and popped another bird out of its place which in turn fell
down
down
down

smash.


I had to be literally removed from the peice as I had frozen to the spot.


I felt like I had killed someone.


I had immediately thought of all of those art history programs they play on public broadcasting where they talk about grave-robbers, broken artifacts and the multiple thieves who kept cutting down The Hope Diamond. When you watch those programs you think "How could someone rob a king's grave!" or "What MORON would lose artwork?" I was now a part of art history. It made me think that perhaps Nazi soldiers had not deliberately shot at the Sphinx, perhaps it was an accident that someone felt really, really bad about. Miss Direction: Nazi Soldier Sympathizer. Huzzah.

It was very difficult to keep working but I was urged to stay (I was not to touch any more art that day. No problem.). My first thought was that I was going to be fired. I had gone from thinking I was going to be crowned most valuable employee and now I was the asshole idiot who broke not one but two Lars Greigs! But I wasn't and it was pointed out that there were a number of security/safety precautions that had not been put in place (I'd imagine that was because it was kind of considered "pre-de-install" when we had started working. It was clearly not thought of as an "at-risk" situation. It would be like asking your lover to put a condom on while he was brushing his teeth. Not necessary.)

I cried that day much like a victim of a natural disaster: that helpless, selfish, confused, frustrated, completely surrounded kind of tear-letting. By the time 5 pm rolled around I felt like someone had drawn all of the energy out of my body through multiple hoses. The stress and self-imposed guilt mixed with the actual physical labor and the sense that others were looking at me thinking either "Jesus! I'm glad I'm not her!" or "I can't believe she fucking broke a Lars Greigs" was draining. (I don't think they were thinking any of that, so I suppose most of my fatigue was due to my own Crazy).

This was a responsibility I had not forseen coming my way and I was being crushed into the earth underneath it. It was not something I could "quit" or "give my two weeks" or "return." I could not stop saying "I'm sorry." I could not apologize this away. I could not volunteer to work overtime or come in early or replace. My only relief was that Lars Greigs was still alive. What a strange thing to be thankful for.

I came home where my parents made me a toasted cheese sandwich and tomato soup AKA absolute comfort food. Its the closest thing you can get to ingesting comfort short of baking a cake made out of a quilt, a teddy bear and a whiskey and eating it on your mothers' lap. "Thankfully" my mind was quickly distracted by the fact that John McCain had announced Sarah Palin as his running mate.

A second.



A breath.



A moment.



A moment they can never take back.