I got back to the room Friday after lunch. Anne was there, looking at her notes.
“Mary, did your Humanities teacher say anything about going to the University museum?”
“Yeah. Said we should go see it. Want to go this afternoon? I haven´t anything going; I just told Tom to meet me for supper at the Union.”
“That´s what I was hoping. I´m going to change first, though.”
“Into what? Should I, too? Is this formal?”
“No, I just feel like wearing something pretty. Oh, and Alex asked me about dinner, too. Why don´t we eat together?”
Anne was down to her panties in the bedroom. I followed in and sat down to take my boots off. Anne pulled out a long, blue, cotton dress with a gazillion tiny white flowers, half a million little buttons down the front and a deep scoop neck. She left the skirt buttons open up to mid-thigh.
“That´s pretty, all right. Guess I´ll be the homely one.”
I dug out a silk print blouse that has this design of red and blue lines and blocks on a white background. I put on a blue worsted kilt that´s mid-thigh with a funny-looking bronze clasp pin Aunt Bessie gave me. I love good things.
We both hit the long mirror on the back of the bedroom door at the same time. Anne´s neckline showed the beginning of her cleavage. I undid the first three buttons of my shirt and let my braid fall down the front. We looked terrific.
The museum wasn´t too far across the campus, so we walked. We were supposed to tour the permanent exhibition and get a good idea of what´s there. I suppose we´ll have to write a paper on it eventually.
We spent about an hour walking through the galleries. I like the Impressionists and the stuff just before them, but the Gothic stuff leaves me cold. So do most of the Romantics.
There were quite a few people in the galleries. The guys looked at Anne´s cleavage and my long legs. None of them was particularly interesting.
We walked into another gallery and sat down on a bench. There was a guy there, too, looking the other way, sketching in a big pad. I looked at what he was drawing, and turned around fast. On the wall was this huge painting of a simply beautiful horse. The guy was drawing a copy of it, trying to get the muscles right.
“Holy Moses! Will you look at that horse. What a beauty!”
I got up and walked over to look at it more closely. The guy put his pencil down until I realized I was in his way. I went back to the bench and sat next to him.
“Sorry, didn´t mean to block your view. Can I see it, what you´ve done?”
He showed me the pad. “I´m trying to see how Stubbs does this leg. I can´t seem to get it right.”
“Who´s Stubbs?”
“George C. Stubbs, a British painter from the 19th century who specialized in horses. Did the favorite mounts of the rich and famous.”
“He really knows horses. I can almost tell what that one is thinking. Look. Here. You´ve got this part wrong. It goes down this way.”
He looked at me sharply. “You an artist?”
“No. I just know how horses are put together. I´m Mary Travis. This is Anne Stilwell.”
“Lemme see. Gee, you´re right. If I just bring this line down and around, it works. Thanks. Hi, Anne. Oh. I´m Will Spector.”
Will worked a little longer on his sketch, talking with us as he worked. He´s in the Art School, was going for Graphic Arts, but really liked to draw ‘from life´, as he called it. Then we started wandering around again, with Will giving us a guided tour, pointing out the stuff he liked, what he didn't like.[the present tense in this paragraph would have worked if it were one of the girls telling the other about him.]
We came to the modern section, and I said, “I´m not too fond of this stuff. Guess I don´t understand it. I like things I can understand.”
“Like horses,” Will said. “But look at that shirt you´re wearing. Do you like it? That´s a copy of – well, come through here... See, that´s your shirt on the wall, a painting by Mondrian.”
It was, too. I laughed, and so did Anne.
“It´s my favorite shirt.”
“And that pin on your skirt? That´s a copy of a Celtic pin like the ones they used to hold their skirts together thousands of years ago in Europe.”
“My aunt gave it to me. I like it, but I never thought there was anything special about it.”
“Art is everywhere, Mary. Anne, that print you´re wearing is right out of one of Renoir´s paintings.”
“Gee, I thought it was out of the Sears catalog.”
“Come on, that´s not where you got that dress.”
“No. Just the same, I guess you´re right, and yes, I know the painting, but I hadn´t made the connection. We pick this stuff up without really knowing what it is.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the gallery. Will was wonderful about telling us what he sees in these paintings, helping us see things a different way.
We came back to the room with the Stubbs horse. It was almost closing time.
“Will, you really gave us a new look at this stuff. I like that. Listen, you want to draw a horse from life?”
“Sure do. Do you have one handy?”
“Well, I know where to find one. There´s this stable I know that has a good string of quarter horses. We could go out there tomorrow, if Anne will lend me her car again.”
“I´ve got a car, and you´ve got a deal. What time? Where do you live?’
We agreed to meet the next morning at 11 o´clock outside the dorm.