Manhattan Dreaming, page 14
‘And lips.’
‘Wow, now that’s a good start to Monday morning.’
‘I love that accent, where are you from?’
‘Canberra, Australia,’ I said proudly.
‘Well, if all the women have lips like that in Canberra, Australia, then I’m going there as soon as possible.’
‘You should go, for sure. They could use a man like you down under.’
‘Hear that boys, they could use a man like me down under.’ The group of four ageing guards all laughed.
‘I’m Lauren Lucas.’ I gave him my hand.
‘I’m Carlos. Welcome.’ He put both hands around mine.
The fellas doing security back at the NAG told me that their day could be very long if there was no small talk or a little flirting with pretty young visitors. But was the guard flirting with me? I didn’t care, I was just appreciative of the friendliness.
‘Well, Carlos, I’m going to be working here for the next twelve months, so I’m glad we’ve got our little routine worked out already. My smile looks forward to seeing you tomorrow.’
I knew if nothing else, I was going to enjoy arriving at work at the museum every day.
‘Hey there, Lauren, right on time.’ Wyatt picked up my bag off the conveyor belt. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’
‘I did, thanks,’ I said, taking it from him and noticing his gentlemanly manners. ‘Did you?’
‘Yeah, I had an awesome weekend, just hanging out with some friends. Left here,’ he said, ushering me along. ‘Maria is waiting for us, so we’ll head there first and then I’ll give you a tour of the building.’
We walked into an office full of light and Maria was at her desk. ‘Welcome, Lauren,’ she said, walking over and hugging me. I felt like I was back at the NAG again. ‘Wyatt’s going to show you around today, and I want you to take your time going through the exhibits and getting a feel for the building. We’ll have a meeting tomorrow morning to discuss the schedule for the next twelve months. Your office is just down the hall, so drop in at any time if you need anything. Open door policy here.’
‘Come, let me show you your prestigious office, Ms Lucas,’ Wyatt said, taking me by the elbow and escorting me to our shared space. The desks sat like mine and Libby’s back in Canberra. You could tell my desk had just been cleaned. Wyatt’s was covered with postcards of Native art and photos of him with artists and his family and friends. I looked to see if there was a ‘couply’ kind of photo, keen to see if he had a boyfriend, but there were lots of different guys and a few women too.
Wyatt waited while I unpacked my meagre belongings and personalised my space: a photo of Libby, Denise and I taken on our last night out together, a family pic, some postcards of Canberra and Goulburn and an image from the Michael Reilly ‘Cloud Series’ with a boomerang set in a blue sky among the clouds. I pinned them all on the wall and put my NAG coffee mug, my mousepad and an Aboriginal flag on my desk.
‘That’s an eclectic mix of things, Lauren. I love the mug.’ Wyatt picked it up smiling and I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. ‘What’s the flag?’
‘That’s the Aboriginal flag. Black for the people, yellow for the sun – the giver of life – and red for the earth and the bloodshed since colonisation.’
‘Cool, maybe we could swap,’ he said, and he reached around to his desk and held up a similar-sized flag. ‘This is the Mohawk flag.’ The flag was red, black and yellow and had an image of a long-haired warrior, a single upright feather, rays of the sun, and a red background. I took it from him and looked at it as he explained.
‘The long hair represents the universality of the Native struggle. The feather relates to both tradition and strength. The rays of the sun symbolise fundamental Mohawk values.’
‘I love it, and I love that it’s in the same colours as our flag. Too deadly,’ I said. Wyatt look confused. ‘Oh – deadly is our word for awesome.’
‘I think we’ll find we’ve got lots more deadly things in common over time, Lauren – like how we BOTH have to get to the media department right now!’ Wyatt smiled as he motioned for us to leave the office.
The media department wanted to do a story on me for the National Museum of the American Indian magazine, so we did an interview and quick photoshoot, and then we began the tour of the museum, starting in the three-storey oval rotunda. ‘This is pretty much an architectural icon,’ Wyatt said as we both looked towards the ceiling. ‘The tile and plaster domed ceiling is by Rafael Guastavino and the murals are by Reginald Marsh,’ he said, waving his hands. There was a video playing in the room as well. ‘You may like to come back and watch that later.’
As we entered the permanent exhibition I read its sign out loud: ‘Identity by Design: Tradition, Change and Celebration in Native Women’s Dresses’.
‘Most of us call this “The Dress Room”. The collection includes – I am very proud to say – the oldest Native wedding dress known to exist. We’re really excited about it.’ Wyatt paused. ‘You’re not married, are you?’ he asked, looking at my ring finger. ‘I mean, surely if you had a husband he wouldn’t have let you come here for a year all alone.’
‘No, I’m not married yet. I’m not ready to settle down – but in the meantime this is the perfect place to be. Right here in New York.’
‘We’re so lucky to have you, then – in the meantime, that is.’
I wondered if he was the marrying kind, and whether or not gay marriage was legal in New York State or would he have to go to Massachusetts, Connecticut, or Iowa or maybe even Canada.
‘How about you Wyatt? Are you married?’
‘No, not yet, but hopefully one day.’
He ushered me further through the space, talking all the while. ‘Through here is our current exhibition, “Fritz Scholder: Indian / Not Indian”. It tackles some of the identity issues in Native art. See, Scholder was one-quarter Luiseño – the tribe from Southern California – but raised white, and although he was one of the most influential, prolific and controversial artists in the history of Native art, he never bought into the identity debate, he just painted and let other people do the debating. He’s a hero of mine for that in many ways. This is one of my favourites …’ Wyatt stopped in front of an acrylic on canvas work, Vampire Kissing Fallen Angel #1.
‘We have the same discussions back home,’ I told him. ‘What constitutes “Aboriginal art” and who is an “Aboriginal artist”? It’s complex, and sometimes takes the focus away from the art itself, which can be problematic.’
Wyatt was nodding, as if he totally understood what I was saying without the need for further explanation. ‘I know, which is why your proposed urban exhibition will fit in perfectly here. This is the space it will go into.’
I looked around the walls, imaging the artwork of my own artists hanging here on opening night.
‘Who actually comes to opening nights here?’
‘A mix of people: curators from around the city, gallery people, local Native artists living in New York, art collectors looking to buy, university lecturers with their students. Actually, Maria was talking about getting you to give a lecture about Aboriginal art at the NYU New School. It would be great for us. It would bring more people into the Palace.’
‘The what?’
‘Oh, some of us call the museum the “Palace”.’
‘I like it. The Palace it is.’
We eventually made it downstairs, but not before I was completely confused by all the back corridors.
‘I’m going to need a behind-the-scenes map to remember all these doors and back entrances.’
‘I’ll draw you one, you’ll be right. Mind you, I’m still finding doors I didn’t know existed. This is the Diker Pavilion, where we screen national and international Indigenous films. We have a biennial Native American Film and Video Festival – the next is in April.’
‘I’ll definitely check those out, too. Maybe we could think about doing an Aboriginal Australian Film Festival here at some point.’
‘Sounds like an awesome idea, Lauren. You should mention it to Maria tomorrow.’
As we walked I marvelled at the amount of marble in the museum: floors, walls and pylons.
‘Most of the white marble is from Vermont and New Hampshire and the coloured marble from Italy,’ Wyatt told me. He seemed to be knowledgeable about the whole building.
I noticed a lot of marine references in the architecture with carved details of seashells and boats.
‘What’s with the marine theme?’ I asked.
‘This is the old Customs House – and this used to be the country’s most important port of entry, so lots of history in this site. And this is the museum shop.’ Wyatt was whisking me through the building.
‘I have to admit that one of my favourite parts of any museum or gallery is the shop. So many pieces to take home to remind me of an exhibition by artists I love but can’t always buy.’ I touched my ‘Love needs faith’ pendant and scanned the space quickly, taking in the book collection, dolls, posters, jewellery and cards. I knew I would be spending some of my first pay cheque here and sending quality items back to Mum and the girls. A school group came in, bustling with excited students.
‘Are schools your main visitors here?’
‘American Indians are part of the curriculum in New York, so that encourages a lot of school visits, but we get tourists and locals too. This is one of the few free museums in the city, so it’s very popular.’
I was getting hungry. ‘And where do the staff eat lunch? Do you all go out?’
‘Most of us eat it at our desks – museum wages don’t pay that much. I’ll show you the break room, where some of the service staff eat.’
The break room was a bland space, with cream laminated surfaces and tables.
‘I think I’ll eat in the park. It’s such beautiful weather and a gorgeous spot on the water.’
‘I’d be happy to join you, if you want company any time.’
‘That’d be great, of course.’
‘I need to tell you, though, in winter you’ll be grateful for the heating in your office at lunchtime, trust me.’
‘I’m from Canberra, so I’m used to the cold.’
‘Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘And where’s the best coffee?’
‘Well, there’s a Starbucks nearby.’
‘Um … I don’t go to Starbucks.’
‘Don’t say it, Guantanamo Bay?’
‘Yep.’
‘Me too. I’ll show you the best coffee at lunchtime.’ He held the door open for me as we entered another corridor. Wyatt was cool, had the coffee knowledge, the politics and was chivalrous, leaving the likes of Hunter for dead. I wished I could send him to Australia to run some workshops with Aussie men, including Adam.
‘What about after work? Is there somewhere people go after work?’
‘We sometimes go to the White Horse Tavern for lunch or after openings, or maybe if we’ve just had a really, really bad day and want to debrief. I can show you where that is as well. It’s not far from here.’
‘You’re so kind, thanks. I was really nervous about coming to New York, but everyone is incredibly helpful and hospitable.’
‘Lauren, I think you’ll find that most people react to you in a positive way because you give off a pleasant vibe. Keep that up and you’ll be fine.’
‘How was your first day Lauren?’ Maria asked me on day two.
‘Excellent, but I’m still trying to absorb everything.’
‘Don’t wear her out in the first week, Wyatt.’ They both laughed. ‘Now, we need to lock in some events. Lauren, you’ll be working on these too, as part of your broader role at the NMAI over the next twelve months. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘We’ve got the art market at the end of August, and there’s storybook readings every Saturday at noon – so put that in your schedule. If you can come to one a month that would be great.’
‘Of course. I’ll come to this week’s session.’
‘I’d also like you both to come to Washington with me in March to the advanced screening of Trail of Tears, which is part of the We Shall Remain series.’
‘Washington, DC?’
‘Yes. Lauren, you need to know up-front that the NMAI in Washington is regarded as the mothership, although this building was the original base. And our research facility is in Maryland. I go there every month to attend the collections committee, where we decide on loans, donations and acquisitions. You should come with me to one of those meetings, and you’ll also have a small travel budget to go to conferences and meetings out of town. So let me know if there’s something in particular you’re interested in attending.’
‘I’ve got a calendar of conferences and symposiums you can look through,’ Wyatt offered.
‘Thanks.’ I was completely overwhelmed by the opportunities I was being given, and finally truly grateful to Emma and Libby for forcing me to take up the fellowship.
Maria went right on with business. ‘I’d like to schedule a short-film festival for April next year.’
‘Oh,’ I cut in. ‘I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but do you think that we could have some Aboriginal short films from Australia in that?’
‘That’s a great idea. Your exhibit will be opening in April, so that will be a good tie-in. Can you work with the film and audio people on that, please? Wyatt, can you take Lauren down to meet the team there?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And the traditional dance social is on 18 October. Public relations will be in touch about the invitation list.’ Maria spoke directly to Wyatt and then looked at me, busily taking notes. ‘Don’t worry about the social, Lauren, there’s no work involved. You just need to show up.’
‘And dance!’ Wyatt added with a laugh.
‘It’s all good, Maria, and I’m happy to help out. Not sure about the dancing, though.’
‘We’ll get you in jingle dress, never mind about that,’ Wyatt joked.
‘Jingle dress?’ I was a little embarrassed I didn’t know what it was.
Maria answered. ‘It’s a dress worn at powwows. They have tin pieces in the shape of cones sewn carefully on them and they make a jingling noise when you dance.’
‘Right, got it. Not sure how good I’d be at jingling, but I’ll give it a go.’
‘Okay, that’s all at the moment, I think.’ Maria ruffled through some papers on her desk. ‘Ah, that’s right, Wyatt, I need you to take Lauren to the American Indian Community House to meet everyone. They’re eager for an Aboriginal Australian exhibition and I mentioned we had Lauren on board and now they’re excited. Sorry, Lauren, you know how it is when there’s only one Native person around. Everyone wants a piece of you.’
‘Don’t be sorry, it’s the same back home. And we’ll do the same to you when you come to Australia. I mean, if the fellowship ever becomes reciprocal.’ I didn’t want to commit the NAG to anything on my first week at work.
‘Great idea, I definitely think we need a fellowship down under.’ Wyatt was impressed with that idea.
‘Also, Lauren, here’s a list of some galleries around Chelsea that represent Native artists. It might be worth your while checking them out sometime. Just so you have an idea what the private galleries are doing and are into.’ Maria handed me the paper. ‘Emma told me you were a workaholic, in a good way, of course. And so is Wyatt.’
‘Hey, I love my job is all.’ Wyatt was defensive.
‘He’s the only Native curator in New York. The rest are in Washington and Maryland.’
As Wyatt and I walked back to our office I read the list Maria gave me.
‘I know the galleries in the area well, Lauren. I can take you there if you like.’
‘Great!’ I said, arriving at my desk and thinking about the next twelve months, full of interesting events, people and work. Doing all this with Wyatt was going to be fun. He was like my Native American gay male twin.
On Saturday I went to the Chelsea markets with Kirsten and Vikki, stocked up on fruit and vegies and then, while the girls grabbed a table at 202 for coffee, I raced into Eleni’s and bought the extravagant ‘5th Avenue dozen’ which comprised red velvet, Reese’s, chocolate ganache and Oreo madness cupcakes. I would take some in for Wyatt and whomever else was working that day. After coffee I made my way down to the museum. When I got there, Cherokee storyteller Gayle Ross was enthralling the kids with the tale of how the turtle’s back was cracked one day when some wolves decided to teach him a lesson for bragging about being a great hunter. The crowd of about thirty-five, including Wyatt, were hanging on her every word.
‘Do you organise this as well? I didn’t realise storytelling fell into curatorial duties.’
‘Yeah, curator means “dog’s body”, you know that. Nah, I’m here because I wanted to bring my friend Julian and his daughter Cindi. I thought they’d like it. Cindi’s the one in the pink dress in front.’ I saw a cute girl with pink ribbons listening intently.
‘And this is my buddy Julian.’ Julian looked about six foot two, had thick black hair, deep blue eyes and muscles pushing through his tight grey T-shirt. He didn’t look like your typical dad at story time at a museum. The other dads looked far more conservative and ‘fatherly’. I wondered if Julian and Wyatt were together, or if Julian was just one of those ‘sperm donor’ dads for a female couple? It was becoming increasingly more common for gay men to father babies because they also wanted children.
‘Julian, this is my colleague, Lauren Lucas. She’s from Canberra, Australia.’
‘I love Australia,’ Julian declared.
‘You’ve been there?’
‘Two years ago – Sydney, Melbawne, Brisbayne and Uluru.’ My god, he’d actually been to Australia and he knew to say Uluru. Not one of those Americans who got Austria confused with Australia or who thought it was too far away or referred to our sacred site as Ayers Rock.
‘I love the Ossie accent, it’s wild.’
‘I love how you fellas say Brisbayne and Melbawne. It sounds funny.’
There was clapping as the storytelling session ended.
