Somehow we’d never gotten around to visiting this museum beofre. The Lions, incidentally, were created in 1893 by Edward Kemeys. The north lion, in the distance, is “on the prowl,” while the south lion, where I’m leaning, “stands in an attitude of defiance.”
We spent about three and a half hours in the museum. It very soon became apparent that my wife and I have decidedly different tastes in art. I liked the early American stuff — she preferred the European, particularly the Dutch. So we 
hit upon a strategy. We took turns choosing which gallery we would visit next. We also made sure we saw all the famous paintings. (“Famous” being defined as all those paintings that either of us could recall having seen before.) I couldn’t find Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper, so I asked a security guard without teeth where it was. (I didn’t go looking for a security guard without teeth, she just happened to be the closest one.) She was very friendly, if almost impossible to understand, and she informed me that it was out on loan. That was a disappointment.
The famous paintings included American Gothic, by Grant Wood, (incidentally, if you’ve been wondering what the guy in American Gothic as been staring at all these years, check the bottom of this post)
Paris Street; Rainy Day, by Gustave Caillebotte,
A Sunday on la Grande Jatte — 1884, by Georges Seurat (which was surrounded by the largest group of people of any of the works in the museum), and a bunch of others I won’t bother posting.
It was at this point that we hit upon another strategy. She went back to the European galleries and spent more time while I went in search of the weird.
I found it, in the contemporary gallery. There was one canvas that was painted different subtle shades of black but which just looked black. There was a film of short clips from the old Wonder Woman TV show. There were several paintings (in the photography gallery) that were all titled “Untitled,” but which all had titles in parentheses after the word “Untitled.”
Finally, down in a corner of the basement, I found part of the museum that I knew we would both like — The Thorne Miniature Rooms. During the 1930s and for the next twenty years or so, a Mrs. James Thorne supervised a bunch of craftsman as they replicated various home decorating styles through the years. The models were built on a scale of one inch to one foot and are amazingly detailed. Even the views outside the 
windows had scenery. Rooms visible only through doorways were decorated and furnished. They were so well done that it was easy to imagine miniature people walking in and using them.
By the time we finished looking at the rooms, it was only 20 minutes until closing. We checked to make sure we hadn’t missed anything we wanted to see, then left. But before I end this post, here’s what the guy in American Gothic has been staring at (and what is probably responsible for the look on the woman’s face).
