The Postal Museum

I had no intention of visiting the Postal Museum at Washington DC. It sounded boring, and I was never interested in stamp collection. It's likely to appeal to only those who collect stamps, and I don't have enough background understanding of stamp collection to be able to appreciate those little pieces of paper. However, I found myself dropping into the Postal Museum one day, simply to get away from the 38 degree heat. I was at the Union Station to purchase my train ticket to New York, and also to take a look at the architectural features of the train station. Bored with just the shops, I left the station to see if there're any interesting sights around, and the only one I could find around the corner is the Postal Museum. Oh well, it's free (one of the Smithsonian institutions) and it's cooler than outside.

What I thought was a 20-minute respite from the heat turned out to be a 2-hour fascination with new discoveries. Stamps could tell so much. Other than the usual display of precious stamps (interesting that they have higher value if they are mistakes in printing, or they have not been used before), the museum has cleverly used stamps and the postal service as an underlying theme to talk and make commentaries about wars (poignant letters from soldiers in the field), innovation and invention (mass production of envelopes), frauds (email bank transfers) etc. I also learned that the pony express (as romanticised in the cowboy movies) lasted only 2 years; it was quickly replaced by the invention of the telegraph.

In the end, I realise that it's all about telling stories, the perennial links that tie human beings to one another. The form may be different, the environment on opposite sides of the world, the era several generations away, but the fundamental humanity in us is all about love, family and friendship.

Big Is Better

Big is impact. Large installations are like buildings. It's difficult to ignore their presence; they just intrude into your physical space and force you to pay attention. You are not allowed to remain neutral and not feel anything. You just have to go WOW!

At the P.S.1 Museum in New York, an installation is being set up, so huge that it occupies the whole courtyard space. The place is very busy, full of sweaty workmen, carpenters with their tools and technicians poring over blueprints. It's just like a construction site. Watching a works-in-progress has its intrigue. How will the final piece look like? What is the artist trying to say? Are there more pieces to come? Are the parts built on site, or they pre-fabricated elsewhere? What are the materials being used? How does the artist decide on what materials to use? How long will the installation stay on site?

Across in the heart of Manhattan, in what is known as the English Channel at the Rockefeller Center, a 6-storey installation called What My Father Gave Me (appropriately named as Father's Day is round the corner) has been set up. It is assembled from one million small pieces of stainless steel toy parts, put together like Lego pieces. It is based on an old-fashioned toy that no longer exists. The artist Chris Burden has to commission a factory to manufacture the components. Although the installation is tall, it is dwarfed by the buildings at the Rockefeller Center, and because it is made of metal sticks, it does not feel solid and imposing. I kind of like it. It fits quite naturally into the environment. I suspect most of the tourists are not even aware that it is a temporary work of art that will come down after some time.

Am I Seeing Too Much?

I see so many possibilities in art expressions that I'm beginning to see art everywhere I go. The interesting configuration of the two bicycles (or shall I say one-and-a-half?) stacked vertically against the lamp-post caused me to do a double take and to wonder if this is just someone's practical way of parking his bike. Or is it an art installation placed there on purpose? After all, this lamp-post is just along the walkway outside the New Museum. Does art imitate life, or does life imitate art? What do you think?

I have an idea. If I'm an artist with the means, I would choose a road (in China?) with a row of lamp-posts and put up a series of bicycles, stacked in different configuration of completeness or in parts. Then I can spin a story of how I want to comment against the environment assault on fossil fuel and say that I want people to go back to the good old bikes. Deep, eh?

In Glory of the Living

I have not met JP since after Sec 4. She now works in the World Bank and calls Washington DC her home. Through just sheer coincidence, I happened to mention my trip to US to a mutual friend, WH, who suggested that I might be able to get in touch with JP. Through the power of email, here I am today, at the World Bank having lunch with JP. She looks exactly the same as I remember her during our school days, perhaps with more white hair, (and a PhD to boot) but same hairstyle, and now doing work to help the African states. A further coincidence, JP had, 2 years ago, brought a group of African educators to Singapore, and arising from that trip, had edited a book on education with Prof L Tan and Prof Lee SK. Small world indeed. Of course, we caught up with news about our friends, who is doing what and where, who is married, not married or divorced, who has retired, and who is still in the grind and mill. We reminisced over old times as JP brought out her old photo album when I was at her home the day before.

JP hosted me to a lunch at the World Bank today and used the opportunity to fill me in on the functions of the World Bank. Quite proudly she highlighted this sculpture at the atrium, built to commemorate a World Bank project that successfully eradicated riverbank blindness caused by the tsetse fly. Many monuments are built in glory of the dead who gave up their lives in wars. We should have more monuments in glory of the living, those lives saved because of the good work done by people with the compassion and know-how to help their fellow beings.

Art from Art

I felt bad about intruding into this couple's private moment but I enjoyed watching how they were interacting with the installation art piece. In fact they were experimenting with different angles to capture an interesting photo image. I think this is where it's good for museums to allow people to take photos . It encourages interaction with the sculpture, and promotes engagement and involvement so that art is not just about passive viewing. The invitational environment provides warmth and positive feelings, almost like a day out in the park for children. Museums don't have to be art-farty stuff. Notice that the sculpture has evoked a different creative response from the audience. Art as a multplier!

1+1 = New

I love the way I've framed this photograph. In the background is, of course, Andy Warhol's pop-art picture of Mao Tse-tung. In the foreground is an installation by Shapiro. The way the 2 art pieces are placed in the MET by the curator, it looks like a red dancer paying homage to the Chairman. I can easily picture in my mind the red communistic ribbon-swishing girls singing and dancing in praise of their great Chairman. Notice also the shadow grid cast by the light through the window, the straight lines seem to play with Shapiro's Y-lines.

This is an interesting example to illustrate that sometimes, art is not just about the piece itself. The interplay and interraction of 2 seemingly unrelated art works within the space afforded gives rise to another dimension of experience. So just a small tip to museum-goers: create your own building blocks and achieve a new unit of experience.

Same Picture or Not?

These two paintings look similar, but they are works of art by two different artists, both famous. At the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MET), the paintings are hung side by side. The top picture is by Georges Braques (1882-1963) and the bottom by by Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) . The artists were contemporaries and started what is known as the Cubism style of painting. Cubism made use of shifting viewpoints. For example, we can look at a table from different angles: from above, from below or from an oblique angle. Cubists attempted to capture this on the same flat canvas, which then made it difficult to distinguish objects from each other and from the space they take up. And yet, for this radical approach in representing 3D, which results in a very abstract painting, the subject matter of Cubists is usually conventional and drawn from the still life tradition.

Picasso apparently did his painting to complement Braques'.

Geometry Problem or Art?

I was so fascinated by LeWitt's concept of art that I actually stood there patiently for more than 5 minutes to copy his instructions for a piece of wall art. It'll be fascinating to see if all Maths students or teachers will be able to reproduce the same curvy line:

A not straight line is drawn from a point halfway between a point halfway between the centre of the wall and the mid-point of the right side and a point halfway between the mid-point of the right side and the lower right corner to a point halfway between a point halfway between the mid-point of the top side and the upper right corner and a point halfway between the midpoint of the right side and the upper right corner.

P.S. You should end up with a vertical curvy line somewhere at the right corner of the wall.

An Artist that Doesn't Draw

Is it really possible? An artist that doesn't execute his works?

Sol LeWitt (1928-2007) said that it's the idea that makes the art. By following a set of instructions and often, a diagram created by the artist, a team of trained draftsmen created the "wall drawings" on display at Dia:Beacon. Because the wall drawings are intended to be produced by experts as opposed to the artist himself, LeWitt's working style is likened to be an architect or a composer who conceives of an idea, but does not execute it. LeWitt started the "Conceptual Art" Movement which was popular in the 1960s and 70s.

The picture shows a 4 squares of different designs. His instructions come in the form of a diagram on how the 4 different designs are to be combined and laid out on a huge vertical wall. The end result is actually quite nice, if you can just imagine it a little. Just think of the mount of meticulous work done by the draftsmen., drawn line by line, to fill up the whole wall space.

Here's another one of his instructions: The first drafter draws a not straight vertical line as long as possible. The second drafter draws a line next to the first one, trying to copy it. The third drafter does the same, as do as many drafters as possible. Then the first drafter, followed by the others, copies the last line drawn until both ends of the wall are reached.

Another Blur Art Story

The line between what is art and what is not art continues to be a blur for me. At the Whitney, there is a row of plain copper plates placed neatly aligned on the floor just in front of the paintings hung on the wall. It's actually a piece of work by Carl Andre called Twenty-Ninth Copper Cardinals. The copper plates are placed such that you make your way along them or around them. In the context of the museum where visitors are not supposed to touch the art, the act of standing on a sculpture is both unexpected and transgressive.

Frankly I'm not convinced by this blur art story.

Blur Art

Digital animator Gabriel Orozo once said that he doesn't want to be too clear or specific about his art so that the audience is given space to think and to interpret. If the picture is too clear, then the audience is likely to just take a glimpse and then walk away. If the picture is blur, or not clear, then the audience will wait a while and think why.

So here's a picture I snapped at the national Gallery to get you to ask why.

Mad for Museums

Just a statistic from this morning's edition of USA Today: There are an estimated 17,500 museums in the USA, 36% are history museums, 24% art, 15% science and the others 23%. Science museums include zoos, aquariums and botanical gardens.

Art in a Manhole

I have since discovered that art can be anything - and everything. With more than 2 weeks of museum-hopping under my belt, it is thus not surprising that I was able to pick out that the manhole cover in front of the lobby of the Whitney Museum is an art installation. Don't ask why. Art is just there for you to enjoy.

Eagles' Nest At Whitney

I was on my way back from a visit to the Whitney Museum with a sense of disappointment, not with the works on display, but with the fact that 3 out of the 5 exhibition levels were closed for new installations. Only levels 2 and 5 were open, and these were just remnants from the Whitney Biennial, which was supposed to have closed some time back.

I crossed the road to try to capture a photo of the building. Like the Guggenheim, the Whitney is set apart by its unique architecture - a Marcel Breuer-designed grey granite cube. But look, there's a nest on top of the coverway!

I crossed back again to find out more. The Eagles' Nest is in fact part of a series of installations called Animal Estates. Conceived by architect and artist Fritz Haeg, the installations are done with the hope of luring New York's original animal inhabitants back through the building of homes for these wild animals. Art with a green purpose. Cool!

Side Story: Sleepless In New York

It's now past 12 midnight. As I finish my blog, I could hear the roar and churning of the garbage truck in the street below. My goodness, they clear rubbish here in the middle of the night! No wonder the guidebooks warn against noisy streets. I thought they're talking about merrymakers and late night revellers. Luckily I've earlier asked for a room in the higher floors in anticipation that I'll need to do some quiet work in the hotel room in the evenings.

I've been going to bed early in the past few days, probably because the museum visiting means standing and walking the whole day, and negotiating the crowded subways takes nerves of steel. Every night, I just crashed. Tonight, I indulged myself with a soak in the bubble bath. Instead of falling into peaceful slumber, I find myself awake and hard at work. I was trying to capture a few photos from postcards. You see, some museums do not allow you to take photos (rightly so, I thought) and so, I try to get around it by buying some postcards which I can use as masters. Unfortunately, the warm room lighting gives some funny results to the pictures. I better give up now, and read myself to sleep. Tomorrow is my last full day in New York.

Sculpture Projects at Plazas and Parks

New York is of course famous for the many large scale sculpture and monuments erected either at the plaza in front of the tall skyscrapers or embedded in the parks. Similar to the usual European monuments to heroes, the gilded statue of General William Tecumseh Sherman presides over the Grand Army Plaza, a very apt placement as a lead-on to the fabulous 5th Avenue row of high fashion Guccis and LVs.

South-west across the plaza I discovered a Joan Miro installation called Moonbird at the Solow Building. I've seen a number of Miro abstract paintings in the museums. This is the first big-scale Miro work I've seen. The New York Times described the bird as "a squat but assertive creature of black bronze, whose cocked head, ending in the top in a phallic dunce cap and equipped with a jutting chin, knobbly eyes and a cone for a nose, set directly on three bulbous, horned legs."

Another unexpected discovery is a statue of Gandhi at the Union Square Park. Set amidst green plants and shrubs, someone has placed fresh chrysanthemums in his arms. On closer look, the inscription says that the sculpture is a gift to the people of New York from the Gandhi International Memorial Foundation. I wonder if the foundation has also placed similar statues in other countries.

As I sat in the park bench at Union Square, my eyes rested on a large wall monument above the Virgin Megastore. The giant Metronome, designed by a husband-and-wife team, was installed in 1999 at a cost of $3million. It is one of the largest private commissions of public art in New York. Most New Yorkers seem to think of it as hideous and monstrous, but I think it's quite cool to have a flat wall art sculpture. According to the artists, the Metronome is an "ode to the impossibility of time". What I don't like is the steam coming out from the hole in the centre. The hole is called "infinity" and the steam is emitted as a symbol of the city's internal energy. The symbolism is too literal for my liking.

Whimsical Bronze Art in Subway

I have been hopping in and out of the subways every day for the past week in New York so much so that I'm beginning to feel like a rat traversing an underground maze. Yesterday, on my way to the American Museum for Natural History, I unexpectedly stopped in my tracks when I noticed these delighful little sculpture pieces scattered all over almost unnoticed within the 8th Avenue-14th Street L Subway. Ignoring the flow of human mass around me, I clicked away with my trusty Nokia camera phone. There are dozens of them at all corners, over the beam and under the staircase. One can turn this into a treasure hunt for amusement, except that New York subways are so dingy and ugly that you don't really want to hang around any minute longer than necessary.

A google search tells me that there are in fact 40 of such bronze figures, done by an artist called Tom Otterness, who is inspired by 19th century political cartoons that skewered corruption in New York. Called "Life Underground", the series is commissioned by the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. The MTA has set aside 1% of their reconstruction budget for the installation of works of art at subway stations and platforms.

The bottom photo shows an alligator dressed in a suit peeking out from a sewer cover biting into a man with a moneybag for a head. It's apparently one of the most favourite pieces. The other photo shows a man crushed by a heavy weight.

I think this is fun and whimsical. But for the jaded New Yorkers, many of them probably just hurry through to catch their trains.

A Nice Picture

I'm particularly proud of this photo taken from the top floor of the Newseum. I've captured the interplay of lines from the sunlight's shadow and the building.

Dynamite Dia Discovery

Dia:Beacon is a modern art museum converted from an old biscuit factory located at Beacon, a little village located in the Hudson Valley north of New York. The train ride takes an hour and a half, and I was originally hesitant about making the 3-hour round trip from New York's Central Station. But the museum did not disappoint, unlike the New Museum at Bowery Street. The New Museum is too edgy for my liking.

The Dia:Beacon is stupendously mammoth, and its cavernous space is especially suitable for very large installations, and I mean humongously large. A few installations look like they're part of a ship's hull, and yes, the artist had to have his pieces made at a shipyard.

There are many unique works with an element of surprise and unexpected. The works of Michael Heizer, for example, are giant cuts into the grounds. His 4 pieces, called North, East, South, West, are sunk into the floor of the gallery to a depth of 20ft. He calls it 'negative sculpture'; the sculpture is defined by a void, by absence rather presence. What an original idea! According to the docent, an artist becomes famous if he is able to redefine viewpoints which nobody has thought about before.

Heizer's works is nicely contrasted against that of Fred Sandback. This artist uses nothing more than a few taut strings hung from the ceiling to the ground, but its effect is more impactful than it sounds. The taut strings, stretched as straight lines, define new planar space, as if, for example, there's a sheet of mirror in front of you. Another clever idea!

I have certainly enjoyed myself today, and have discovered new dimensions of art.

Typwriters of Days Gone By

The top photo shows one of my favourite installations at the Sculpture Garden of the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC. It is a giant typewriter eraser by Clares Oldenburg. I have completely forgotten about this obsolete piece of stationery. For the uninitiated (read - too young to know), this eraser, made of a rougher type of rubber, is used to rub off mistakes in typewritten letters and words. The brush is used to brush off the debris from the eraser and the paper, and typewriter ribbon. The sculpture represents a giant falling eraser that has just alighted, the bristles of the brush turned upward in a graceful, dynamic gesture. So you see, sculptures need not be hard concrete public monuments, but can be everyday objects , including obsolete objects remembered from childhood.

Over at the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in New York, there is also a piece of art, which is simply a typewritten page, consisting of 2 parts, a text, and a graphic art created from the keystrokes of the typewriter. It used to be quite popular during the early days of the computer to do such art pieces. I remember a Mona Lisa that was circulated among my university friends.

Both these 2 pieces, one a large constructed monster, the other a piece of paper, stem from the simple typwriter. Same source of inspiration, but very different products.

The Smithsonian Museums in Washington DC

One of the reasons I chose to visit Washington DC is because of the convenient location of the Smithsonian museums, almost all within the same stretch along what is known as the National Mall. It's a very interesting, practical, almost nationalistic layout, a huge (more than 3 kim long) rectangular field of green grass, flanked on both sides by the museums, with the US Capitol at one end and the Washington Monument at the other end. Ironically the benefactor James Smithsonian was neither an American nor had he ever stepped into American soil. An English scientist, he bequeathed his estate to set up an institution for the "increase and diffusion of knowledge". Whoever decided that this meant building museums and making them free and available to all the masses deserved a special Nobel Prize.

It is summer, and the museums are overrum with many school groups and extended family outings. Museum visits here are far from quiet serious occasions. They're noisy and boisterous. I don't see many people contemplating in front of the art pieces. Most just skim through the exhibits, very much like window-shopping, or shall I say window-museuming?

I must say that the noisy school and family groups marred my enjoyment somewhat, but hey, it's their museums, and it's good that these museums are well-visited. Or perhaps, I'm gulity of being too snooty. What's wrong with 'look-see', and why must one intellectualise about paintings and art pieces?

Nevertheless, I had a lovely time listening to a piano recital by a Polish pianist at the courtyard of the National Museum of Art. It's a nice way of winding down after a long day. The free concert was held after the museum was closed to the general public. I think it's a great idea to have a regular music programme every Friday evening at the museum.

Of Statues and Sculptures

There are not many outdoor statues in Singapore. For some reason, the aesthetics of having an outdoor installation does not appeal to the Singaporean architect, or building owner. There have been a couple of impactful installations, no less than a Henry Moore for example, outside the large bank plazas in town. I also recall Ng Eng Teong's Mother and Child sculpture outside Plaza Singapura, but it is now re-located elsewhere. After this earlier effort of 'sculpture-on-the-plaza', there wasn't much follow-up in other parts of Singapore. I wonder why. Is it too expensive to commission and install? Are there no sculptor-artists in Singapore? Does Singapore's weather pose a problem in maintenance? Some years back, a few schools have in fact installed centre pieces in their school grounds. I don't think it's done so much nowadays. Perhaps MOE views this as an extravagance, or has Brother McNally's influence been diluted?

In any case, I'm pleasantly delighted to see no less than 3 installations at the new Peranakan Museum, previously the Asian Civilisation Museum (ACM), twice over previously Tao Nan School. This piece, shown in the picture, is entitled A Visit to the Museum: Taking the Past Forward. It is, I think, a statement of hope on educating our young on the past so as to better prepare them for the future.

There is also a whimsical small piece, fondly called The ACM Cat, done in memory of the cat that adopted this building and became the museum's mascot. I also discovered accidentally the stature of a woman waving from the balcony. The photo is too dark to see, but she's there in one of the windows.

Across the road at the Singapore Art Museum, I read, in the inscription, that this installation was once meant to be a temporary exhibition ( at the National Museum of Singapore - I used to see it as I travelled along Stamford Road), but because it was so popular with Singaporeans, funds were raised to purchase it for permanent installation. Now that's one side of Singapore that one doesn't often see.

Once you develop an awareness of art, you'd notice that your sensibilities will correspondingly be sharpened. There are a few more pieces at the Botanical Gardens commissioned by David Marshall as his gift to Singaporeans. Although I'm there every week, it's only recently that I really take notice of them. What I meant is I know they are there, but that is all there is about it. A few days ago, I was moved enough to pause and take pictures. Enjoy! Better yet, go visit and discover more of the juxtaposition of man's and natures works within the same space.

The Dancing Chandeliers

This is another commissioned piece of work. I call it The Dancing Chandeliers. The pretty red row of lanterns lines up neatly above the bridge across to the other wing, almost too high up in the ceiling to be noticed.

At different times of the day, the chandeliers are programmed to swing in rhythm, different times different patterns, adding to the museum experience. So much fun, almost a little cheeky I thought. Because it smacks of a carnival atmosphere, an almost conspiracy against those not aware of the presence of these lanterns. And yet the clockwork precision in setting the lanterns to motion serves to suggest a cop-out to technology.

The humour and irony I see takes the austerity away from the somber museum.

Anamorphosis

I learned a new word today - anamorphosis - which means a distorted or fragmented image that comes together at a single point. I would otherwise just call it optical illusion. I am responding to the works of Matthew Ngui, a Singapore-born artist residing both in Perth and Singapore. At the basement gallery of NMS (when will the National Museum of Singapore be so well-established that the people on the street will know it by its acronym?), there is an exhibition of his works from 1980s to the present. I particularly like his most-representative piece - The Chair. It took me some time to realise that the real art work is not the solitary wooden chair placed against the wall, but the fragments of pieces of wood scattered on the floor, on the wall, the painted chair parts on the vertical wall corner. Watching the video in which Ngui interacts with his 'chair', I suddenly realise that, if you place yourself at a certain point in space, the fragmented pieces form a complete chair! Okay, so where is this point? I can't just leave without discovering for myself. I tiptoed, I squatted, I knelt, I shifted to the left, and to the right. Hey presto, got it! Quite pleased with myself. Now that's what I call a successful artist to evoke from the audience a response, which probably looks quite silly to a bystander.

That Spooky Staircase

When I was young, I used to be quite afraid of this staircase. It's always chained up, dusty and forlon. I wondered where it led to, and imagined that there must be a ghost up there. It is still there today (the staircase that is), but its lacy pattern contrasted prettily against the light from the window. There is a chain across, suggestive of forbidden space. There's no notice, but it's almost clear to anyone that this is Do Not Enter zone. The mysterious forboding continues to tantalise my imagination.

David's Big Feet

Someone says that the museum is the attic of a nation. Quite an apt description. It's like a family treasure chest, sometimes long forgotten in the attic, occasionally taken out to re-live the good old times. It is thus with some surprise that I found out museums also commission art works to create a commentary on the architectural space. At the National Museum, this is how David (that Michelangelo's David) draped in Indonesian batik, fills up the rotunda space.

We all know that the original statue of David is huge, but his p*** is quite small. This one is quite well- endowed. I do not know if it is built in exact proportion to the original, but his feet are HUGE. See for yourself. I'm quite pleased that I manage to capture the batik details quite well in the photo.

Sound of Nostalgia

It's quite subtle, and you almost don't notice it's there. I'm talking about the sound background that adds to your total museum experience. It's employed quite extensively by the National Museum of Singapore. Take for example, the Fashion Living Gallery. As you lose yourself in the dark cavenous room, admiring the fashion statements through the years, there is a subtle, warm, fuzzy whisper in the background. Listen carefully, and you detect the whirring of a sewing machine. Come to think of it, I realise why it's a warm fuzzy feeling. It's so familiar, and yet so distant. It now dawns on me that it's a subconscious association of my mother tapping away at her trusty Singer sewing machine (still present in her bedroom today). Those were the days when she had to lug home bundles of fabric cuttings and sew them into pyjamas, to supplement the family income. It brings back unpleasant memories of the days when the family, once wealthy, came to bad times, and mum had to eke out a living sewing pyjamas. A simple rattle of a sewing machine, but it evokes so much feelings in me. The strength of mum's character, her pessimism, and yet her commitment to do whatever it takes to get going. Yes, museum is about emotional engagement. But the engagement happens only when it means something to you. Is it no wonder that museums appeal only to older people like me?

My First EZLink Card

I bought my first EZLink Card two weeks ago. Not having to rush to work and meetings, I thought I would make the effort to commute through public transportation while I make my museum rounds in Singapore. Surprisingly, I felt a sense of liberation as I received the card. I guess not having to worry about parking is liberation enough. That I would have had to mingle with the crowd in the bus and in the MRT has a comforting assurance that I am really part of the ordinary people mass. It's almost a personal triumph to declare that I'm not totally dependent on my car!

I boasted about my new-found freedom with my RGS girlfriends one day. Another revelation - we all share the same discovery that, now that we're into our 50s, less busy with work and bringing up children, we all want to go back to becoming mere plebians taking public transport. There's a tint of self-pride to 'return to our roots'. We've come full circle.

The Colour of Museums

If you think that, because my sabbatical theme is on museum, I'm an art or history connoisseur, you couldn't be further from the truth. My vocabulary in describing something that I enjoy would normally be limited to "That's nice!". Not exactly very profound, is it? So, I was intrigued by this write-up on a museum in New York, which describes the museum as "exuberantly abristle with the usual Victorian gewgaws". I did a quick search: gewgaw refers to a decorative trinket; the word has its origin in Middle Age English giuegaue. In simple English, the museum has a large collection of trinkets from the Victorian era. Now this sounds utterly unromantic and unexciting. Which leads me to deduce that, to really enjoy museums, you must make the effort to build up your vocabulary so as to add colour and depth to your emotions and experience.

First Day of Blog

Today I start my blog about my sabbatical. It's still a few weeks to come, but I'm already getting a bit restless. I vacillate between wanting to prepare comprehensively to get the most out of the learning journey, and worrying about over-planning to the detriment of missing out on accidental opportunities that may come my way.

The theme for Part 1 of my sabbatical leave is on museums in 3 different cities - Singapore, Washington DC and New York. What triggered the start of this blog is the story run by The Straits Times' Life! section today about Asian Civilisations Museum head Kenson Kwok. I would call this man an unsung hero in that he's transformed the local museums to a new level of sophistication in quiet seldom- publicised efforts. I still recall the musty and eerie National Museum next to the now-non-existent National Library along Stamford Road in the years gone by when I was still a young student. For a long period, that old, boring mental association with museums lingered on. Even when I earned enough to travel overseas on holiday, I kept wondering why people would spend time and money to see inanimate ancient artefacts. And yet, today I read about this museum honcho, who after 17 years at the helm of curatorship, plans to retire to visit even more museums, and to further value-add to his appreciation, decides to learn Latin so he can read the inscriptions on Roman monuments. This is what I call PASSION.

(Side thought: Ummm, good storyline to tell my students about PASSION.)