CURATOR: one who has the care and superintendence of something; especially one in charge of a museum, zoo, or other place of exhibit
[A weekend organizing the kids’ room and basement reminded me of this old post…]
I am the fortunate curator of a collection of original art. I own several sketches, paintings and sculptures signed by local Seattle artists.
I keep most of them in the recycling bin.
You see, the artists are my children and somewhere along the line I must have said “oooh” too loud or “aaah” too often. Now they believe that every piece of paper they mark, tape or fold is worthy of museum lighting and praise.
As curator of the collection, I am left searching for ways to honor the joy and pride of the artists without being crushed to death by heaps of toilet-paper-tube sculptures, unidentifiable origami, and abstract-may-be-too-kind-of-a-term animal depictions.
Sometimes I lend the pieces to the rotating collections at other museums (i.e. Nonna’s fridge).
Sometimes I make a big show of displaying one or two pieces while I use slight-of-hand to slip the others in the kitchen recycle.
And, sometimes, I take them to my office where my kids believe I have a wall papered in their masterpieces.
Only the cleaning crew that empties my recycle knows the truth.