Once again, I was at the Getty Villa last week. I should move to Malibu, ha! Like I could afford a post box in that zip code. I was also lucky to be with daughter; a last minute addition since her father couldn't make it and I'm always glad when she can.
The evening lecture was on a closing exhibit, Molten Glass, and even though the curator of the exhibit read her presentation it was quite interesting. This woman could have spoken for hours about this subject but choose to read it instead and daughter said, it only makes you realize how difficult it is to present and appreciate the really good speakers. She could be right.
A bonus of attending a Getty Villa lecture at night is the opportunity to visit the gallery after. We skipped the reception and headed into the museum but not before we had a look in the main garden. The moonlight on the reflecting pool was spectacular. Moonlight in Malibu is different, I believe.
Daughter got to meet a docent friend of mine and her accompanying husband, Al. He comes with her to all the lectures so I've gotten to know him. Last time he brought me a yellowed, clipped from a 1989 magazine, article on authenticating ancient marble sculptures that references a piece before the Getty bought it. This time it's a piece from the New Yorker, 1957. You see, when Al reads an article he snips it and saves it to read again and over the years has amassed quite a box. He is now trying to get rid of them and I'm part of his dispersal program. Does he want them back? Nope, give them away he says.
The problem is, now I can't throw them away. They are like a piece of sticky paper stuck to your shoe. First they were in the living room, then they migrated to the kitchen, and finally I've moved them to my office. I've read them and now I can't decide what to do with them. Why is it so difficult to toss these? It's like old magazines. I wonder if I should put these on Craig's List?