Condition Reports

Sara is in Hilton Head, but is coming back next month, for a week, to organize "Against The Grain" and wants all possible information, so I'm comparing the catalog for the show against the condition reports. A big, expensive show like this, the condition reports are extensive. There are pages of data on the Thomas Hart Benton. The show divides itself into six sections, and, as it happens, we have six sections in the main gallery, Sara wants to know how many paintings are in each section and the catalog doesn't provide quite enough information, because we're not getting 10 of the pieces. We signed for 53 paintings, and there are 53 paintings here (our ass is in the clear), but there are 66 paintings in the catalog, and I need to determine which are the other three, and where they are. It starts snowing hard and everyone goes home a little early. I stay, going over the condition reports, which record every teeny bit of damage, every venue, looking for any clue. Hours later, it's still snowing and town is blanketed, nothing is moving. I go up on the roof, to get the panorama, and it's beautiful; lights and muffled sound of a train across the river in Kentucky, a thousand prisms as snow falls through the street-lights. I did take a break, after closing down the museum, went over for a draft at the pub. No one there but the pregnant waitress, Lindsey (who I now call Blimpy) and young John who manages for John and Barb, the owners. A Phratric environment. They're going to close up early because the weather conditions are so bad, but we chat for half an hour. I'm not really used to this kind of socializing, but I do it well enough. I like these people, and I can converse about almost anything. Walking back, careful of step, in the hazy penumbrae of light, I have no thought, other than where the next foot falls.