Kyle Moody and the Not Bummer Summer

Once again, here we are. This last week, my temp job ran its course, and I am again with the unwashed masses of the unemployed. I am not unhappy about this, in all actuality, I am quite happy. That job was boring, soul-sucking, and just pointless. However, I will miss the paycheck, and my current stress-level is slowly increasing day-to-day as I think about how I am going to pay my rent for the next school year, but somehow, it'll all work out.

I don't want to talk about such a trivial matter with you. In this post, I want to talk to you about what I did the day after I was done with my job. I went to the Philbrook Museum. Something I have been wanting to do for quite a few years now. Wednesday morning, I woke up and dressed fairly decent (no suit and tie, I assure you), and left for the museum. After being lost for about twenty minutes, I arrived. For those of you who haven't been, the entrance way is quite an experience in itself. When you first enter, you encounter this sculpture by Rodin:

Rodin is arguably one of the heavyweights when it comes to sculpture. So, once you see this as soon as you enter, you know you are in for a real treat.

After I left the ticket counter, I made my way to the main exhibit, a collection of Raushenberg's screen prints and paintings. I have to give kudos to the Philbrook. The way they arranged the pieces was not only tasteful, but they created a soothing atmosphere in the gallery hall. However, when I left the Raushenberg exhibit, and went into the main halls, that was a different experience all together.

I have come to the conclusion that I am a victim of terrible timing. Whether it be with jobs, writing, or relationships, I never can seem to get the timing just right. Wednesday was no exception. The one day I decide to relax and take in all of these beautiful masterpieces from across the centuries was the day it had to be field trip day. At least 500, screaming, booger-eating, little kids were there not paying attention, not caring that they were surrounded by art that is not only older than them or me, but will be around a lot longer after we are all dead and buried. That's not even the worst part. Since there are no ropes or protective casing around the paintings and sculptures, some of these booger-eaters were touching the artworks!!!!

Excuse me while I go and scream and vomit at the thought of what I saw...........


Okay, I'm back. But that day was not lost. When I entered the hall of modern art, I got to see my very first Picasso:

Beautiful would be doing this painting an injustice. I stared at this painting for what seemed like a year. It's a bewildering and humble experience to actually see something that you've only read about. I could see every brush stroke, every paint chip. I was literally six inches away from it. I could've touched it if I wanted to. I would be lying if I said that thought didn't cross my mind. I wanted to touch it, to touch the actual paint that Picasso used, to be connected to history. My heart raced with the idea, but I could not be disrespectful. We go our whole lives reading about things that are greater than ourselves, and when we are in the presence of such items, it makes the whole world stop,and it makes us wish to be part of that world. I am not ashamed of saying that I teared up a little bit.

I could go on and rant about the shame we should feel as a society to allow art to be cast on the edge of our collective thought, but I'm not. After seeing my first Picasso in person, not even those little booger-eaters or the fact that I'm unemployed could deter my experience. So, what makes you think I care where society places art nowadays? You're the ones missing out, not me. I'll gladly keep my art, you can keep your job.

"My name is Kyle Hays. I drink wine on Thursdays and Vonnegut lives in my pantry."