MOMA and Pooh

Setting off for the Guggenheim, Steve and I ended up at MOMA – due to the slight practicality that the Guggenheim is closed on Thursdays, but I think this serendipitous change was actually for the best, as MOMA’s collection is probably more comprehensive than the Guggenheim’s. So we set out to wander through the amazing displays of rooms full of Matisse (much prefer his sculpture to his paintings), or three different styles of Picasso all painted in the same year, or the concept of the chair executed in an incredible range of possibilities. The space of MOMA itself is also a work of art, with the enormous open atrium, and stairwells and galleries offering interesting angles and views of artworks. “Modern art” was probably not my favourite style, but MOMA presents it in interesting ways, plus the obscure squares of brown/black paint (why is THAT art?) are well compensated for by pieces of great beauty, even if I don’t understand them all. And strangely, there was almost the identical beige-brown splatter Pollock that I thought I had seen at the Met – oh well, I suppose he had to pay for the groceries too..... The design section of light fixtures and chairs etc was also surprisingly beautiful, and the outdoor sculpture courtyard had wonderful pieces of Rodin and Picasso and others that little philistine me did not recognise.

Exiting MOMA, across the street was a branch of the NY Public Library, outide which was the irresistible invitation to “Come upstairs and meet the real Winnie the Pooh.” Who could not follow this summons? So up we went, and there in a cabinet were the real original toys of Christopher Robin that inspired the books – Pooh is a Harrod’s bear given as a present to Christopher Robin when he was two years old, and all the other toys look much loved as well. So for the benefit of Julia (and, I confess, myself), we signed the publicity waiver and were allowed to photograph them through the glass!!! Quite an unexpected little highlight.

That evening we went to a stunning Broadway show called The Producers - now turned into a movie - which was extremely funny, and had something in it to offend everyone - as the show's centrepiece "Springtime with Hitler" might suggest. Imagine singing, dancing Hitler and Nazi chorus lines, with showgirls adorned with pretzels and sausages, old ladies demanding bizarre sexual favours, and you start to get the idea.