Rorschach's Journal, March 18th, 2009

Rorschach’s Journal, 3:12 pm

In Walter Kovacs disguise again. Big opening today at museum. Showed up, with sign, of course had to check it again. Something about how they could be used as a weapon. *I* could, yes, but generally, no.

Never really looked at museum before. Kept a close eye on all those milling about. One would think the purpose of visiting a museum was to be reverent and quiet and contemplative. The main atrium was far from it. The worst of it, tour groups after tour groups of school age children.

Truth be told, don’t mind children. Do mind bad manners. People these days need parenting lessons. It would seem many commented about how I smelled. Good. It kept them away. Which is the intention.

Managed to swim through hordes of tourists to Michelangelo exhibit entrance. Of course,packed with all walks of life. As I understood it, the socialite woman from television yesterday had been on hand to cut the ribbon to the exhibit. She was no where to be seen currently.

Walking in, was struck with how few paintings and art works there were. They had been well placed, however, and there were many photos of original Frescoes mixed in with the art itself.

First stop, Sculpture “Awakening Slave”. Looks as though he is struggling to get free of the stone. Only partially sculpted. Very eerie. Near it some photos of the Sistine Chapel. God gives life to Adam.

Next stop, Study for 'The Libyan Sibyl', a sketch for final painting on Sistine Chapel.

Next, Madonna of the Steps, Bas Relief Sculpture. Refined, beautiful. Next to that, life size photo of Pieta. I pause. A bereft and beautiful mother with dead son sprawled across lap. The drapes of her clothes look real as they sit frozen in stone. The tenderness and love in her face as she mourns the death of her son, Christ. A mother’s love.

“Excuse me.” a body pushed accidentally, breaking my concentration. I grunt in aggravation.

“She is beautiful, our Lady, isn’t she?” A woman’s voice said from behind. I spin around startled. A Nun, smiled. Of all people for her to talk to. “A symbol of motherly love and holy grace.”

“Eh, yes. I suppose so.” The concept not lost on me, just that, something never experienced.

“My child, if you ever are in need of help, my group can be found at The Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. “ She said out of the blue. Surprising, Frankly. I suppose it was my homeless disguise. “I suspect you could use some kindness now and again.”

“Thank you.” How do you talk to a Nun? “Thank you Sister.” Moving on, went to inspect a few never before known sketches of Sistine Chapel.

Thinking back to New Frontiersman. Claim was, one was fake. Which one?

Moving on to The Entombment, Painting, then on to Manchester Madonna, painting.

Lastly, The Doni Tondo. It looked painted on wood. I looked more closely, it WAS painted on wood. Somehow, impressive. Even the frame was impressive and the descriptive sign explained the frame was a Michelangelo as well. “Hurm”

Finished with the exhibit, after over an hour. Surprised. So easy to get lost in the art, regardless of the nudity. At least it wasn’t pornographic.

No signs of trouble. Waited around a while. Managed to spot green prostitutelike girl from yesterday. No doubt there with her mother. No sign of boyfriend anywhere near. She looked troubled.

“Oh hey, it’s you! I thought you’d be here, you’re such an art lover!” She, much to my dismay, approached. Felt like running. “You were talking so nice about the art.”

“Yes, eh, very nice.” I looked around, “Conversely, I did not expect you here.”

“Oh, I know, but Mom and Jace dragged me. Now that I’m looking it doesn’t seem so bad, but gosh there’s a lot of penises in these paintings.”

*Cough* I choked a bit.

“So what’s your name?” She smiled.

“Ror…..Walter.”

“RorWalter?”

“No, it’s Walter.” I looked around. “I, ought to go, I have to get back to…”
“Your sign?” she said in question as if I really had nothing better to do, and she laughed.

“Don’t you have some kind of boyfriend?” I questioned.

“Oh, he’s off talking to someone or something. Oh there’s mother, MOTHER!” She shouted.

At this point was feeling trapped. Not expecting to draw all eye in museum.

“There you are Darling.” Tall, well dressed, woman walked up. She looked at me as if I was gum stuck to her shoe. “Who is your friend?”

“This is Walter. “ She smiled.

“I was just leaving ma’am.” I excused myself.

“Oh well then, good.” She said and turned to her daughter as I turned to leave, “Honestly darling, why do you associate with trash, first your boyfriend and now him? People will think you’re a whore.” The mother said in a hushed tone.

For a moment I stopped. “Mommy is he hurting you?” “You son of a bitch. You ruined my life. I should have had that abortion!” *Slap* In all these years, those images never left me. They would flood back time and time again. Made me angry. Very angry. Balled my fists as I left the museum, collected my sign and stalked off.

No apparent sign of thievery. Perhaps on wrong trail. Let the damned painting be stolen. Stopped, twirled J.S. Riley’s diamond ring. In habit of wearing it these days. Something bad happened to him. Or something he was doing was bad. More than just paintings.

For now, Rorschach.