Suitably fortified with spring rolls and bobba tea (I’m still not sure I trust those little black chewy things at the bottom) we are all ready for adventures. But ugh! Is it ever HOT. I think I might like to adventure in an ice rink—the human female once went ice skating in this city, someplace downtown. Of course, she’s too feeble-minded to remember WHERE, so we will all just have to roast.
Oh. Well. At least we are going to do indoor things today. But Odin’s Eyepatch, people, does it have to be art? I am not in an “art” mood. I don’t want to be edified or uplifted, I am on vacation. I want adventure. I want thrills. I want excitement! I want—
—never to meet this gentleman in a dark alley. He is properly fierce! Well, as fierce as one can be with bows on their shoes and pumpkin pants…
Perhaps he is merely giving art patrons what the humans refer to as “the stink-eye” because many of them are pausing for quite a while to
ogle admire this young woman
who, though separated from him by several hundred years and the Bay of Biscay, would appear to be his sartorial relative. (Or Sartoris relative. Ehehehehe. Art joke.)
The human female quite likes this next one, though I have no idea why. She says it reminds her of the bridges in London (despite the fact that it was painted by a Frenchman) and that it “neatly captures one brief moment on a foggy morning and a little slice of city life; how the three figures, though occupying the same space, are separated from one another by class and preoccupation with their concerns.”
Snort. What a lot of pretentious twaddle. Probably she likes it because it is mostly blue.
Up close, this next one is a mish-mash of quickly-slapped on brushstrokes in varying shades of gray.
From a moderate distance, it does an astounding job of capturing the light on a quiet winter morning. I can practically smell the wood smoke on the frosty air and hear the snow crunch under the old woman’s feet. Looking at it more closely again, I see that I was right the first time. It’s little slaps of gray paint. Hmmm.
This next one is all slappy as well, and presents a street scene in colors not found in nature.
Supposedly, it is very valuable and shows “mastery in its use of yellow, an uncommon color for landscapes.” Probably uncommon because if you were to put this thing in your living room, you would need to redecorate so as not to clash with it.
We have now wandered into the section of the gallery devoted to art from the Eastern portions of this realm.
Sigyn thinks these gibbons are funny.
I think that if a human mother dangled her offspring like this simian is doing, there would be authorities involved. Still, it rather makes me wish that there were a tame and willing gibbon in our household, because those long-reaching arms would be perfect for getting things out of the tops of the kitchen cupboards.
The human female and Sigyn are in raptures over this gold and floral folding screen. There is some serious plant-squealing going on!
The human female is peering at the flowers and making squeaky noises because, apparently, they are painted with such skill that they can be identified by genus. She is particularly excited about what she says are little blue dayflowers:
Sigyn is quite familiar with dayflowers.
Ehehehehehe! By Sleipnirs eightfold fetlocks! This is splendid! The human female has become so enthusiastic, peering closely and pointing and squealing that she has been asked by the guard to step back or, preferably, leave the gallery entirely.
I always said that too much botany would get her into trouble someday.
Having left the art museum, we are in search of one of those large markets that the humans are so fond of. Their intent is to buy something interesting for dinner. But first, a visit to a store that specializes in things to hold…other things. The human female is enthusiastically telling the male (who has never been to a store of this chain) that it is a wondrous, yet dangerous place.
She’s not wrong.
Hang in there, sweetie, Loki’s coming.
Now we are a the large market. Sigyn approves their horticultural offerings.
She is also entranced by these heirloom tomatoes.
Beloved, you may not want to hug these weird things. I am fairly certain that a good few of those do not conform to the usual spectral specifications for berries of the genus Solanum.
Moreover, I am reasonably certain that this is not a tomato.