Updated: Apr 25
The wooden benches at Glenstone Museum (look the museum up, lazy bones) are works of art, if not pieces of poetry.
I made the mistake of sitting on the flat bench (among others). Actually sitting on it was not my mistake, saying it had a laminated surface was a colossal error in my judgement.
That set Tam off. She thought the flat bench was all wood also. My comment about an artificial surface must have touched a chord. Maybe a nerve?
As we drifted (marched?) down successive halls, Tam kept repeating that the benches were all wood.
When we returned to the entrance, she cornered the lady at the reception and asked what the benches were made of. The lady didn’t know, so she looked up a book. That didn’t do it.
Tam had her call up someone, and leaned in with more specific questions as the phone conversation went on for ten or more minutes.
I was tired of standing and parked my fat rear end on another flat bench in front of the reception area. This was another smooth beautiful exquisite piece of furniture I was sitting on. It was large enough to hold a dozen people, but I was the only one on it. I noticed the polished humongous grains of (what appeared to be natural) timber on the seating surface, and made a comment that perhaps I was wrong; these grains were too extended not to be real. They must be from a huge tree.
Tam was not satisfied. At the book store she pulled out a book and said that all the benches at Glenstone were all wood.
I‘m still pondering if I was right the first time (laminate on flat surfaces) or second time (all wood). I’m also wondering what ticked Tam off - my guess is that she was offended that pure wooden furniture could be labeled laminate by a barbarian in a museum, or perhaps it was sibling-like rivalry.
Martin Puryear and Michael Hurwitz designed the benches at the Glenstone Museum.
Water court at the Pavilions, Glenstone Museum.