Forced Cultural March

My friend Betsy (who has been my dear friend since we were in elementary school, which is a very long time now) is a planner and a do-er and a mover and shaker.  She likes having things to look forward to and she does research and she organizes trips and outings, large and small.

Way back when we first moved into Blueberry Hill, when there were lots of young kids in the neighborhood, she decided we should coordinate our parenting efforts, as a community, during spring break.  Her contribution would be to take a day off from work to transport a group of children on a Forced Cultural March.  She always enlisted me and I have been a loyal partner, following behind her fast-paced walk. Betsy would figure out what she was interested in seeing, she would send out an email and invite any adults or children to join her. 

For about fifteen years, we piled into her minivan and headed into DC for a day of enrichment.  Sometimes we had two minivans full of kids.  Usually we parked in her work garage, which is in the middle of downtown everything. We went to  exhibits in various museums (Portrait Gallery, Building Museum, Newseum), to places that were off the usual tour (the Textile Museum, the Bishops Garden, the National Arboretum) and we always learned new things and had interesting conversations.  We had picnics on the Mall or we ate in restaurants that met our diverse needs (when the kids got older we could even go to places like the Old Post Office Building and let them get their own lunches).  So often our outings were during Passover, and I had to get the boring salad wherever we went.

As the years went by, the group got smaller. Kids got older and moved away and those who were still living here had more ability to choose how they spent their spring break -- they began to opt out of the Forced Cultural March.  Two springs ago, only Betsy and I met up in the parking lot, and that made her sad.  We went anyway, as she had taken the day off, and we had a truly delightful day together visiting Lincoln's Cottage up in NE.  As luck would have it, we got a private tour.

I suggested then that she forget about the kids and switch over to adults.  Even adults need a Forced Cultural March now and then.  She took a year off, and then this year she resurrected the institution.

A few days ago, four adults met in the upper parking lot at 9:30, heading off to Glenstone (www.glenstone.org), a museum Betsy had read about a few years ago and kept in her mental files.  The rest of us knew nothing about our destination, but we were game.

We drove into suburban Maryland, down a two lane country road in Potomac and came to a formidable gate with a guard house and a serious gate keeper.  He checked our names (Betsy had dutifully made reservations, including all our names, so perhaps we had passed background checks and did not realize it) and asked us how we had heard about this museum.  Then he told us to drive to a specific spot and wait for someone to meet us.  We drove into the 200 acre estate, past some huge outdoor sculptures, and parked.  There was a greeter waiting for us.  She welcomed us and asked us how we had learned about it.  This was feeling sort of science fiction-ish by now.  She walked us to the museum, and I asked her for the origin story.

It was a brief story -- someone with a lot of money wanted to create a modern art museum and he was married to someone who had been closely associated with the Guggenheim.  They hired an architectural firm, they built this museum and also a private house for their family.  The whole place felt like there was plenty of money. They take care of the 200 acres without any chemical inputs, using only sustainable practices (they make their own compost tea).

Inside the museum we learned that the whole place was devoted to one artist this year. There was an interpreter/guide in every room.  The medium was acrylic yarn.  It took me some time to adjust to this, but having people to talk to about the art made it so much more interesting and fun.  We got into it.  The yarn was stretched taut in perfect geometric patterns, not complicated, not like a spider web, but mostly straight  from floor to ceiling.  Only two or three colors per installation. Lots and lots of thought and effort went into lighting, perspective, use of space.  In one room, the guide asked me if I noticed anything about the floor. Other than how absolutely fancy it was (very small pieces of wood, making a parquet type floor), no. He pointed out there were no shadows at all in the room.  How SPOOKY.  I wondered if we were really there.

Then we had an outdoor tour that took well over an hour.  We went down into the woods (their topography was exactly like ours on the farm and Blueberry Hill -- hilly, with a stream valley, woods...it felt just like home, but with sculptures) and had a leisurely walk, seeing various related and unrelated pieces of art. It was a hot and sunny day, but gorgeous.

The next day, when I was hoeing spinach with the workers in Loudoun, I described this whole experience to them.  One of them is an artist, which is why I told the story in such detail.  About two minutes into my story, she said, "it was a private collection!"  And that clarified the whole spooky feeling to me. Of course they would want to know who was walking around their personal home, of course they don't need to charge admission, and of course they can do it any way they want to.  It just seemed so strange to be asked by every single person, "how did you hear about this?"  It's like a big secret, except that they encouraged us to tell our friends.  (No one younger than 12 is allowed, and they watched us like hawks to make sure we didn't touch anything at all.)

Of course our little group of four was a bit mysterious to the few others who were visiting that morning.  We were three women and a man.  The same question that has come up before when people find out we come from an intentional community -- we could see it in their eyes and they sort of asked it -- you all got the same husband? We are so accustomed to being with our neighbors in various venues, we don't even think about it any more.

Anyway, if anyone is interested in this museum, it is worth the trip and it is free and so interesting.

And I think that everyone should have a friend who organizes a Forced Cultural March every year because without her, I would have missed out on so many opportunities to learn about the variety of riches within 30 minutes of where we live.