Observing Art… With Kids!
ON A RECENT TRIP to the Big Apple with my eleven- and seven-year-olds, I was faced with the realization that viewing art with children is never as satisfying as you dream it will be. Something like, “the best laid plans go to waste” came to mind. I’m not saying the experience was not beneficial in some way—one day they may remember it or connect it to something bigger—but by the end of our second day I was wondering if staying home and cleaning closets might have been the better choice.
Thomas Lawrence, The Calmady Children, 1823
We were there on the first real Spring day after much rain, when New Yorkers are ready to shed their raincoats and bare their pasty white skin to the sunshine. The Museum of Modern Art was our first destination, and as we spilled out of the cab and marched up to the entrance I saw the line that snaked down the block and (uh, oh) around the corner!
My seven-year-old’s smile dropped to her shoes and tears of disbelief started to appear as I told her it would take no time at all, that this was part of the adventure. I had come equipped with lifesavers and we were soon joined by a jolly friend with games on her iPhone to make the wait more palatable.
Once we were inside, the crowds swarmed, and navigating where to go and how to get there quickly became tedious. I tried to introduce impressionism, pointillism, abstract art, and sculpture, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears and eyes that were distracted more by the people around us than by what was on the walls. And what’s with everyone taking pictures with their phones? Isn’t the point to stand and face the canvas and take it in through the senses? Why not just buy the Tshirt?
The next day, the same case of museumitis flared up in the Museum of Natural History. We had met my mother, who agreed that gallery-going with children usually leaves a lot to be desired, as she well remembered (…mental note: I guess I had not been a prodigal art enthusiast either). And even though the allure of the movie, “Night at the Museum” had bred great anticipation in my girls, it was soon stifled by a plethora of exhibits and stuffed people and animals. Feet began to hurt, appetites became acute. Finally, as we headed through the Silk Road exhibit, the dreaded summation “This is boring” was announced. Where was Ben Stiller when I needed him?
Night at The Museum
A few weeks before, I had taken my oldest—a 14-year-old—to watch a dance performance that I had choreographed for some of my college students. After the piece, I leaned over to ask her what she thought about it, and without missing a beat she said, “the music was not my cup of tea and it was too long.” Everyone’s a bona fide critic!
OK, OK — I know we are not born with art appreciation and that it needs to be acquired, but is it art or entertainment? Must it be both? Absolutely not. In fact, not often can one really be the other.
But I have a lot of work ahead of me, so I think I’ll continue to push gently and wait until the day that going to the museum is a good experience for the whole family. And next time, just maybe, we’ll go to Disney.
