Steve and I visited the American Folk Art Museum yesterday, as this is what people who do not have to go to work – do. Right? Right. (We also hit up an all you can eat Indian buffet circa 3 PM and went to see a movie at 5. YES.) I love museums because, for a least a few quiet hours, I am forced or allowed to think about something else. Something I’ve never thought of before. I oftentimes feel like I pretty much have the same 7 thoughts, all the time, and I bore myself.

The great thing about the folk art museum is that it is all pieces by artists who never received formal training, or ‘Outside Artists.’ Yes, I am now an expert. The highlight was definitely the work of Henry Darger:


A Chicago-based recluse. After his death, hundreds of drawings were found in his apartment (warped pictures from children’s coloring books, collections of old ads framed by stamps, massacres of little girls in an eerie-ly beautiful way), bringing him much  posthumus fame – which made me think of posthumus fame, and of a dead person’s space and things being violated and treasured, and how said Dead person would feel about that.

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