Sometimes art gives me the giggles.

I blogged about our trip to the art gallery last week but I did not share one of my stories. As a precursor to this tale, let me acknowledge that I often laugh at things that no one else finds funny. For instance during conference I was shaking with laughter because a certain speaker kept saying the word "duty" repeatedly.

I'm juvenile like that and have come to accept that it's a personality flaw that cannot be helped. Now I did tell this story to my girlfriends, who also found it funny, but it was late, we had eaten an alarming amount of fresh buns, and sometimes funny the night before does not translate to funny right now.

So the art gallery.

At the very tippy top of the art gallery is a massive exhibit called the "Murder of Crows". Yes, very ominous. What happens is you enter a vast room that is filled with speakers. Seems like hundreds of them, but from the website I sheepishly learn it was a mere 98. They sit like trees at the far edges of the room, some inhabit chairs, others sit like people in a symphony and we, the audience can wonder about as the show is performed.

By show, there is a series of music, sounds, poems and little speeches that blast from these 98 speakers as you wonder about. It is inspired by the works of Goya, which are powerfully dark images (also on display at the art gallery - how convenient), he created as prints. I was lead to believe Goya was a romantic painter, but dude had some horrifically scary images in his head as well - trust me.

Kia and I enter the room as a choir of men is singing. They sound Russian, but hey, I couldn't be sure. What's cool is that each speaker sounds as though it's an individual voice. We plopped down in a couple chairs wedged between and in front of some very boisterous Russian (?) singers and set to listening. Waves rolled next, bats flew, hauntingly beautiful melodies whispered through the room. Then this lady started talking. She spoke with a flat, lifeless voice, very zombie like and went something like this...

"I'm on the beach. I see a small cabin. I know it's mine. I walk to this cabin. (zombie voice flat and creepy). I climb a ladder to open the trap door that gets you inside the cabin. It's so dim in the room. I can barely see. Sand has blown through cracks in the wall and the room is almost bare. There is a small bed in the corner and I walk towards it. I can see there is something in the bed. I feel fear, but cannot stop myself from pulling back the blanket and revealing what is in the bed. It is a leg. Perfectly severed from a body that is no longer there. On the leg is a sock and a tennis shoe."

She rambles on a bit more about the strangeness of it all. I'm exchanging wide eyed looks with my 10 year old who I can only assume, is like freaking out, but then says, "I can't hear her" to which I feel vast relief. But then it starts. A woman's voice rings through the silence in the room, singing in lovely warble operatic tones,"B L O O D Y L E G...severed leg" yes, in opera other voices joined in repeating, "severed leg, bloody leg" and I lost it.

I laugh like a 13 year old at a Jim Carrey movie. I can't help it. I know it's serious stuff, and how do I know? Because no one else is laughing. Not even my 10 year old kid, oh she's smiling and nodding - but I'm holding back tears, my shoulders are shaking, and every now and then I have to snort to get enough oxygen so that my life can only excuse, is I did not see that coming.

Who knew art gallery's were so funny?

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