Danny & Pork Chop Do New Haven: Museum Boiis Part 2

I forgot that I didn't do the second half of the museum blogs, so here it is. Where did I leave off? Oh yeah, I'd just come out of the National History Museum. God, I really enjoyed that. Why? Well, besides the dinosaur hall and the Ancient Mesopotamian exhibit, they had my favourite dinosaur! Sadly, it was time to wave goodbye to that museum and head to the Yale University Museum. The cold air nips at me, but I just bury my face into my scarf and put my knit had down further. The buildings here are beautiful, they remind me of being home so badly. I want to curl up into a ball and cry. I hate being trapped in a place, with so many people I hate.
I snap photos as I look around for the museum. I know I'm on the right street, I'm just looking for a sign. This has to be the place. I don't see anything that says it's the Yale University Museum. I wander around the building, going through the little courtyard at the end of the building and looping around. After walking basically around the building, I see the silver lettering declaring what building it is. I'm not impressed.

I walk into the museum and it's modern and cold. It reminds me of some of the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa. I leave my backpack in the cloakroom and with Pork Chop right with me, we head into the gallery. It's like I've transported back to England. The architecture. Looking through the first gallery, I feel like I'm looking into Hogwarts. I know how lame that sounds, but that's how it felt. I love how the stone meets glass. There's just something beautiful and clean about it. I wish there were more buildings built like this. It's strong and safe; something I want so badly. 

The sculpture work is impeccable. It's gorgeous. I want to touch it, but I know that it's not allowed. It feels like there is a human being inside the plaster due to the level of details...wait, what if there is a corpse inside the plaster? I start to low-key panic. This is just like the clothes in Oslo! That fucking spooky setup! And of course, I'm alone in the museum. How am I always alone? I'm not really complaining, but when I have these kind of haunting thoughts it's kinda comforting to have someone there walking around in case the display comes to life and tries to attack you. This isn't night at the museum, Daniel. Just breathe. You can do this. 

I follow a winding staircase up to the second level of the museum. I'm met with a headless naked man with the words "European Art" etched into the wall above him. Well then. I mean, I'm not really complaining, it's just not something you expect to see when you walk up into a gallery. I take a right and the room that I find myself in is filled with paintings. I follow the flow of the building around, drinking in faces, places and moments of history. Security walks around in and out of rooms. It's just me and Pork Chop for a little while before an Asian family enters the floor. I hear the mother gasp and exclaim at the statue, which gives us giggles.
Some of the frames the paintings are housed in are more breath-taking than the paintings; they are works of art in their own right. I love when museums display art in ornate frames. It just adds another level of classiness to everything.
I'd love to work in a museum. I think that would suit me really well should I decided that I'm sick of writing. A job that deals with history and or art like this would just be the ticket. Is it too late to go back and get a degree in this field? I don't think so. I'm drawn to the beauty of history, the levels of psychology buried deep within layers of paint or porcelain. Each piece tells a story; one of the subject and one of the painter. It's beautiful. I work my way through the European art displays taking photos of everything that really captures me.
I'm curious about the Asian section. They're always so different from European or American displays. The contrast never fails to spark questions from within. I see a little statue that brings me so much joy. I want to turn it into a tattoo. It's a little Asian girl eating a slice of watermelon. There's so much happiness carved into this little status that it's contagious. There's all sort of Asian cultural artefacts here! I wonder if there is an all Asian culture museum. I'll have to see if there is one.
The artwork is gorgeous; both simplistic and complex it speaks of stories and traditions that resonate with me today. The Asian section gives birth to the Eastern Religion displays, showing multiple armed goddesses, embodying a faith different to one I'm accustomed to. I get closer to the statues; they're almost scary. The detail, how the faces, some of them, look filled with malicious laughter or glee. It's haunting. I don't want to look at them anymore.

I don't know why I didn't think to visit this museum before now. I'm not even sure what's drawn me here-oh yeah, that Pez Welcome Centre thing. I'm not even going to get to visit it; I have to be back at fucking work tomorrow. A place where I'm constantly devalued. And then they wonder why I'm in a shitty mood. It's not neuroscience, here people. 

We just have one more museum on the list of places to go. The British Art Museum. There's not a lot open in the museum right now as they're doing repairs and re-doing some exhibits, so we'll see what we can. My ankle with the crack that never healed right is starting to ache, so it's probably a good thing we're not going to be spending hours here. It's silent when I walk in. I store my bag in the cloakroom and head up to the floor that's open. There are so many paintings per square inch of wall. They really packed the pieces into this floor. Hundreds of faces stare back at me as I circle around the hall. Statues are spaced out a little more than the paintings are.
The one of an archangel catches my attention as I walk out of the lift and onto the floor. There's just something in the delicate intimacy of the work that calls out to me. Another piece that catches my attention is in the portrait hall. A young woman covering herself with nothing more than what appears to be a sheet. So delicate and soft. Like a real girl. But I like my girls a little bit softer...and alive. I felt like I had to put that in there or you guys would think I'm one of those Ted Bundy types. You know corpse fucker. I mean, I can't see the appeal, but at least you don't have to pay for flowers and chocolates. 

The collage showing decades of British history, especially little pieces of London make my heart sing. I can't wait to be back inside her. Moving beautifully in the best city in the entire world. Stockholm is a close second, followed by Oslo, then Berlin. I want to do pieces of art like this. Or at least give it a go.

And then I see it. Work by one of my favourite artists of all times. William fucking Blake. I want to scream. I could do it too. It's only Pork Chop and me in here. The museum is empty and I find that strange for a Saturday afternoon, but then again, it's the weekend right before Christmas; most people are probably getting last-minute gifts or have get-togethers for the holidays. I stare deep into the canvas. The detail, the rich darkness of the colours. I want to have one of his paintings tattooed on me. He's talented, his proses, his paintings. He's everything and more. Maybe I'll do a tattoo that blends his work & theology with the theology of Emmanual Swedenborg. That'd be a sick piece. I love how Blake uses dark tones in his work. Gorgeous. I feel like a complete fanboy. I want to take selfie's with the painting, but I feel like that's pushing the envelope, especially if security comes up here and catches me taking pictures with the painting.

I've seen all there is so see for now. I'll come back when the museum restorations are finished and the entire museum is finished. Maybe then I'll do my Blake selfies. I head down to the museum gift shop to get a few little trinkets before heading back out into the cold.

I head back to the rental property, Pork Chop's hand safely in mine. The sun is starting to set and we're cold and hungry, not to mention tired. It feels like I could curl up and sleep for a week. I'm pretty sure he feels the same way. Some of the shops look like little gingerbread houses with the way they're decorated for Christmas. It's gorgeous wandering around here, taking it all in. I'll have to return in the summer when things are in full bloom. I must have picked one of the coldest times to visit because I'm actually feeling the cold. Me. The boy who almost never feels it. When you walk through the city, you feel the rich New England history all around you. The historical buildings surround modern ones, sometimes clashing, other times, in perfect harmony. It's quite the city. Part of me wishes there was more snow for the little gingerbread-like buildings, but then I realised I'd have to be walking through that snow and more ice and I decide against it.

Overall, it was a pretty amazing day. I did a lot. I saw so much. I love when I can have days like this. Just let loose, go somewhere and go to a museum. I'll always be into history. I really don't see it any other way. The streets are silent as we head away from Yale. It's almost eerie how quiet it is. It makes me feel like I'm in 1990 for some reason. Less than a year before I was born based on this date. I pull Pork Chop closer to me and hurry across the bridge, past the train station we arrived at yesterday and snake around the side streets. I make it to the renal property in about 5 minutes after passing the train station. I don't know why I feel like I'm going to have a panic attack. I feel my heart slamming against my ribcage as I stick the key into the lock. We're met with silence. Perfect.