I once went to a museum full of dolls. I did not realize where I was going which is one of the setbacks of being drunk when you agree to something. In the sobering morning light being stuck in the middle of nowhere near the doll museum, I reconsidered. Dolls, by their nature, are creepy as all billy hell. I blame this on an overactive imagination, ie, What do the dolls do when you are sleeping? I believe they wake up and speak evil. Okay, maybe they don't, but still. All those tiny little eyes following you wherever you go. All those elaborate ruffled outfits, making them look suffocated. The curator of said museum seemed straight out of the central casting from Psycho. We have many rooms, he said. Do not get too close to anything. I could see right away that this experience would rank right up there with the Hobo Museum in Iowa, which was in fact a very cold room with signs all around in "hobo language." Hardly a Jackson Pollack exhibit.
As I walked around and looked at the various dollies, most of them as beautiful and made-up as Jon-Benet Ramsey, I craned my head up and realized that I was on camera looking at the dolls. The curator could see his dolls the entire time and see people's reactions to them. And I could see myself looking at myself and then looking away, trying not to look at myself. It reminded me of being caught on the monitor at Target walking in the store. Do I really look like that? I think as I see a gray-faced, tired woman rush into the store. Yes, I must concede, I do. In a room full of dolls, they started to look more alive than I was. I could imagine myself among their ranks, staring out of a vapid emptiness, tended to by a man who loved me so much he wanted to watch me all day to make sure I didn't get away.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I never realized why I had this stare on my face. It's sort of an ambiguous look. You don't really know if it's a gaze of terror or excitement. There was one image in the show that a lot of people thought was me. The mannequin that wears the crown — they swore it had my eyes. Everybody thought that I had placed my head behind the mask." Cindy Sherman, discussing her art exhibit using mannequins and dolls
Cocktail Hour
Drinking music suggestion: Live Through This Hole
Benedictions and Maledictions
Special thanks to Robin of R's Musings for a lovely lunch yesterday! I hardly ever cook at home and having someone cook for me was wonderful! Thanks, Miss R!
15 comments:
I really have to say Michelle that you get the bejeebers over some strange stuff...dolls,clowns and whatever. Sounds to me like youshould have had a pint of something to sip while you were getting stared at by all of those evil inanimate objects.
I assume they were mostly all female dolls ...it would have been interesting to hear what they had to say abou you after you left the room.
hhhhhhahahahahahahahahhaa
"Did you see what she was wearing"
"Oh my she looked like a refugee from Sri Lanka"
"No I think she looked like something from the other side of..."
"Now Maudie, you know we don't use language like that here."
"But Still"
"Now hush Maudie here comes another one of hem giant creatures."
If they had a Chuckie Doll I'd ask for directions to the museum. Once again, you guys had lunch without me. I'm always game for a free lunch.
I would gladly take you and any assortment of your dolly friends out to lunch. Of course, we each would pay for our own. Yours, George.
I loved Burt. He's a man and I'm a woman.
Would you not agree that Mindy's cheesecake is the best cheesecake alive?
I once visited a doll museaum. I'm not sure I ever came out. Perhaps I'm there still, and the "me" that is typing this is one of "them," one that watched long enough to find a way to escape.
hell JR I am game for anything free...except a hard time
Once again, I'm with you on this one. Dolls creep me out, too, and it definitely has something to do with the eyes.
Same deal with images that I see of myself. My last love interest always wanted a photograph of me, and I hate them. "But I want to show everyone what you look like," he would say. To which I would respond, "Have you ever mentioned to them that I write? Do you send them to my blog?"
"No. Why?"
"Because that is me...that is the best, most thorough picture you'll ever have of me."
Needless to say, he didn't get it.
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When I was a kid I had a parade's worth of stuffed animals who lived on my bed during the day. At night I scooted them to the window seat. But i had to be very careful to not drop them or leave them squished, and to make sure they were all facing the right way before I could sleep. Though I loved them, I could never be too sure. Their eyes were so shiny and cold. And when I stared, trying to make them move with my mind, they would. Which proved that though you try things, you don't always want them to work, especially.
That would have to be a very strange museum. Sounds like something from the Twilight Zone.
Growing up, my sister, had a Sister Doll (A Nun in her black habit.) My sister was going to be a Nun. Her Nun Doll Had the kindess,softess eyes. I,,,,,was in love. Why cuold'nt my teacher, Sister Mary Grace, look and be so kind? Sister would hammer on me every day, it seemed. I was her whipping post. One day I got the bright idea of sticking pins in the Doll. That after days of cradling the Doll in private and repeating ' Sister Mary Grace, Sister Mary Grace ". Then I would stick a pin in her and repeat " Die Bitch, Die Bitch ". After a week or so of that, Sister stopped clobbering me. My sister, on the other hand, became a life long Bar Whore, producing several illlegitmate kids,,,,,,,,,Thomas
You're very welcome, Michelle. I thoroughly enjoyed your company! Friends, Food & Laughter...does it get any better?
When I was little, I always thought that my dolls came to life when everyone was asleep. I didn't think they did anything spooky, just that they came to life and as soon as the first person in the house woke up, they would go back to being dolls.
Dolls have always creeped me out. So do clowns, mimes, and people who dress up like Big Boy. As a child, my mother mounted a stuffed (fake) polar bear head on a plaque over my closet. It stared at me, mouth agape with white fangs and a promise of a brutal, bloody, death in my sleep. Nightmares? Yeah, we're old friends.
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