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Our CEO, Gavin McGuinness, is a man of wealth and taste.
Coincidentally, his artistic sensibilities run pretty close to my own. As an Art History major in the days of yore, I can extemporize intelligently about all manner and media of art; as the third largest income producer in the whole of Multi National Mega Global, he can afford all manner and media of art. So from time to time, in passing, we amiably share items of mutual aesthetic interest.
Currently, our local Museum of Modern Art is exhibiting works by Morisot, Cassatt, Gonzales and Bracquemond, who are considered the Big Four of estrogen driven Impressionism. Our MoMA has a large annex space that it uses for installations that aren't strictly modern, but will draw the crowds. Them curators ain't dumb.
A week ago Tuesday, when Gavin passes my desk, I mention this show to him, thinking he might be interested. My suggestion's not completely out of left field because he has a framed Mary Cassatt print, The Boating Party, in his office. (Which, iconographically is an odd choice, I think, but color-wise, a fine one. The vivid hues provide an excellent counterpoint to the rampant office taupe.)
"Women Impressionists? “ says Gavin, still walking toward his office. "Sounds like a good show!" At this exact moment, Jared, Enthusiastic Corporate Ladder Climber and Brown-Noser Extraordinaire, appears in my lobby just too late to join the conversation, but certainly in time to hear it.
"Oh, hey! This guy likes a good show!" he says, pointing at himself with both thumbs. Surprised, I respond, "Really? Well it's at MoMA for another couple of months. You should go check it out."
I hadn't thought about that exchange until yesterday.
Always eager to engage in conversation with Gavin, Jared catches him in my lobby, "So, I went to Mama's on Friday, but there was no show. Are they still performing?" Now, whereas we’re all adults and generally accepting of other folks, this is not a subject I would have ever expected Jared to bring up with the CEO at the workplace.
Mama’s is a gay bar.
Gavin looks perplexedly at me and I look at him, and as expected, Jared blunders on. "The female impersonators show! You were talking about it last week!" He's so caught up in this newfound overlapping interest, that he doesn't notice Gavin's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. It's everything I can do to not burst out laughing, and, in retrospect, I'm not sure I was entirely successful. After a small awkward pause, I say "Um, it was an art exhibition, Jared. At MoMA, M-O-M-A, the Museum of Modern Art."
He thinks for a second. "They do that there?"
"No, Jared, women Impressionists, not impersonators. Painters. You know, artwork? On walls?”
Coincidentally, his artistic sensibilities run pretty close to my own. As an Art History major in the days of yore, I can extemporize intelligently about all manner and media of art; as the third largest income producer in the whole of Multi National Mega Global, he can afford all manner and media of art. So from time to time, in passing, we amiably share items of mutual aesthetic interest.
Currently, our local Museum of Modern Art is exhibiting works by Morisot, Cassatt, Gonzales and Bracquemond, who are considered the Big Four of estrogen driven Impressionism. Our MoMA has a large annex space that it uses for installations that aren't strictly modern, but will draw the crowds. Them curators ain't dumb.
A week ago Tuesday, when Gavin passes my desk, I mention this show to him, thinking he might be interested. My suggestion's not completely out of left field because he has a framed Mary Cassatt print, The Boating Party, in his office. (Which, iconographically is an odd choice, I think, but color-wise, a fine one. The vivid hues provide an excellent counterpoint to the rampant office taupe.)
"Women Impressionists? “ says Gavin, still walking toward his office. "Sounds like a good show!" At this exact moment, Jared, Enthusiastic Corporate Ladder Climber and Brown-Noser Extraordinaire, appears in my lobby just too late to join the conversation, but certainly in time to hear it.
"Oh, hey! This guy likes a good show!" he says, pointing at himself with both thumbs. Surprised, I respond, "Really? Well it's at MoMA for another couple of months. You should go check it out."
I hadn't thought about that exchange until yesterday.
Always eager to engage in conversation with Gavin, Jared catches him in my lobby, "So, I went to Mama's on Friday, but there was no show. Are they still performing?" Now, whereas we’re all adults and generally accepting of other folks, this is not a subject I would have ever expected Jared to bring up with the CEO at the workplace.
Mama’s is a gay bar.
Gavin looks perplexedly at me and I look at him, and as expected, Jared blunders on. "The female impersonators show! You were talking about it last week!" He's so caught up in this newfound overlapping interest, that he doesn't notice Gavin's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. It's everything I can do to not burst out laughing, and, in retrospect, I'm not sure I was entirely successful. After a small awkward pause, I say "Um, it was an art exhibition, Jared. At MoMA, M-O-M-A, the Museum of Modern Art."
He thinks for a second. "They do that there?"
"No, Jared, women Impressionists, not impersonators. Painters. You know, artwork? On walls?”
-
Breaking the excruciating silence, my console rings. I answer it gratefully, praying Jared will take this moment to find a dark corner suitable for the fetal position.
Gavin, clearly in possession of far more grace and tact than I, says to a rapidly reddening Jared, "Listen, I've got a meeting right now, but come by my office later, and I'll show you what we're talking about." As he walks out, Gavin gives me a little smile, proving that he's just dying on the inside, like me.
I guess that's why he's in charge.
Breaking the excruciating silence, my console rings. I answer it gratefully, praying Jared will take this moment to find a dark corner suitable for the fetal position.
Gavin, clearly in possession of far more grace and tact than I, says to a rapidly reddening Jared, "Listen, I've got a meeting right now, but come by my office later, and I'll show you what we're talking about." As he walks out, Gavin gives me a little smile, proving that he's just dying on the inside, like me.
I guess that's why he's in charge.
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