No word from the Gate last night. Sat in the chair by the phone for the evening – even fell asleep! I really am holding my breath for that one. I wish I had a mobile phone simply to be able to be reached whenever – I put “(after 6PM)” by telephone number on my CV as there is no machine and I need to catch calls. People aren’t going to keep calling to offer you a job. It’s a one shot deal. But then again, if they have to wait to 6PM, will they call at all? Dammit I hate this phone and the lack of answering my machine.
Today has been a museum day, as I really am hoping for the Gate to call and I don’t want to get a shitty hotel job today and have them call tonight. Then again, a watched pot never boils, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, etc., etc…. I am so damnably particular. I wish I would just suck it up, get a shit job, and be able to separate my job from life after. But I so want to be “happy” and I want to be engaged and hell, I have a college degree! I have developed professional skills! I don’t want to work in a café taking shit from the bourgeoisie! The petty bourgeoisie!
Finally went to Hugh Lane Museum of Modern Art by the Garden of Remembrance. Rather nice, very small, housed in a former beautiful Georgian stately home. I was quite taken by the work of Jack B. Yeats who seems to be Irish. They have a Monet, a Degas, and very interestingly two Renoirs – one very early next to one from his latter, easily identifiable period. The early is of a nude reclined with little impressionist color strokes that almost make her look as if she’s composed of leaves or feathers.
Their great draw is the work and studio of Francis Bacon. Don’t much care for the paintings I saw, but they all have a very interesting use of space and dimension. In each is a light sketch of a perspective box that holds all the subjects. Pretty interesting. That’s what I’d call his work – interesting. But nothing I’d ever buy a postcard of.
Then upstairs is a gallery of photographs of his studio. A real mess in the art parts, and a remarkably contrasting neat in his living parts. He had several books on Picasso and art of antiquity – Greece and Egypt in particular. Neat to see what feeds an artist.
Then I went to perhaps the strangest museum on earth – the Natural History Museum. The downstairs is unimpressive with its collection of purely Irish fauna, but upstairs is this tri-level gallery of all the animals of the world. Everything in skeletal form or taxidermied, with all naughty bits excised for prudent Victorian tastes. Actually a rather grisly and ill-making environment, what with racks of faded, scruffy stuffed animals staring out of soulless glass eyes, with the heads of game animals studding the walls. What’s more, several of them are falling apart with age and have either been repaired very poorly with putty and in one case a clamp, others are simply coming apart. There is an odd smell and a disquiet in the place, and the addition of preserved fish and other monstrosities finally rose up into my throat and I sort of breezed through the last 1/3 of the place to beat a hasty retreat from the ghoulish charnel house natural history.
Now I’m in the Marrion Square Park, with the occasional residual drop of rain marking my page as it slips off the green leaves above me. I am about to try the National Musuem, and hope to be faced with less death and decay. Accent on decay.