The Seagull: just like Robert Hughes

24 Sep

Yesterday the Seagull and I went to the gallery to soak in some culture after reading about all her favourite characters (Eloise, Olivia & Miffy) enjoying adventures at galleries and museums. Apparently, said culture can be absorbed just by running past it squealing. We took in a Rembrandt exhibit (the Seagull’s assessment: “MAN!”) and the Oceanic/Yucatan/Classical Antiquities exhibits (the Seagull’s assessment: “He scared!”, “He happy!”, “What that?”). It was hysterical fun.

While there we bought a brilliant new book, Uncle Andy’s: a faabbbulous visit with Andy Warhol. It’s actually by Andy’s nephew, James Warhola, and is a brilliant account of the family’s surprise visits to New York City to stay with their enchanting Uncle in his kooky house. That there are books out there like this to inflame the imagination, irreverance and wonder of kids is an utter symphony of music to me.

On Saturday night while getting ready for bed, the Seagull and I took a stroll around the balcony. The air was windy and warm, the lights from the city blinked and the sounds from Parklands rolled across the traintracks to us. The Seagull looked up and about, drinking it all in before nuzzling into me and saying “it’s beautiful”.

Damn straight.

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