"A work of art"

Photo: Sunset yesterday at Dundas and St. Patrick.

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Yesterday afternoon Marian and I went out. I hadn't decided beforehand what we were going to do. Standing on the sidewalk outside the house, we conferred. I knew another graffiti enclave we could visit, or the sights along Harbourfront. Then she asked about an exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario, which I had mentioned last week. I was glad she brought it up; if I had left it until today, the gallery would have been closed.

Two weeks ago when I met Marian's teachers, one who took particular interest in Marian was her art instructor. I could tell she was the sort of adult who wouldn't impress Marian especially, too soft around the edges. Marian responds well to someone who is direct, right there. But Mrs. S. spoke with interest and positivity when I mentioned some of the problems Marian was having in other courses.

Then I mentioned that Marian and I would be spending her midterm break in Toronto, and that Marian had already expressed an interest in the AGO. "Oh I wish," said Mrs. S., "that I could take the class to see the Modigliani exhibit."

The trip to Toronto plus entrance fee would be too costly.

So it was a bonus that Marian and I went to see a show of 85 paintings by this troubled painter of the early 20th Century. I knew nothing about him, although a couple of the paintings were vaguely familiar to me. He was a Jewish Italian who lived and worked for a few years in Paris, adopting the Bohemian lifestyle. Marian knew what that meant: they had discussed it in French class. Unfortunately Modigliani sunk into the vortex of drugs and alcohol. His work didn't suffer while he languished, but his health did, and he died of meningitis at age 35, in 1920.

Modigliani is noted for his unusual portraits, painted at a time when portraiture was out of style. Rather than painting the wealthy, he painted maids, peasants and the women he loved. He also painted nudes, which scandalized Paris. The paintings reveal knowledge of African and East Indian art styles. Many of the faces are mask-like, with strange, empty eye sockets. Marian was particularly taken with the caryatids, stone columns in the human form, which were designed for a temple that was never built.

After that exhibit, we wandered for a while through some of the AGO's permanent exhibits. Marian showed mild interest, particularly in contemporary art.

At one point I asked whether she was getting bored.

"Is there more to see?" she asked. Admittedly I was startled, and very proud. Marian didn't seem at all intimidated by "high art," however she was eloquently critical of the old masters, showing distaste for the overwhelming influence of religion. So we kept going for at least two-and-a-half hours, at which point we agreed our brains had been expanded enough for one day.

But the high point came when we were standing in an Inuit art exhibit. A dark-skinned, well-dressed woman walked up to Marian.

"You are a work of art!" she exclaimed. Then proceeded to compliment the way Marian was dressed and made up, pointing out the black coat I had purchased for Marian on Friday as an early 13th birthday present. "And your hair! My cousin is trying to get his to do that, but it won't work."

Marian and I were dumbfounded. Mostly my daughter stood there smiling shyly.

"I just wanted to come over and tell you how beautiful you looked," the woman concluded, then turned abruptly and left us.

They were beautiful words from a complete stranger to counteract negative messages Marian has been receiving from other people in her life. I was deeply happy for her at that moment.

Leaving the AGO, Marian said, "I like Toronto." Then we crossed the street to a chic-chic coffee shop, where I had a latté, and she had a real iced capuccino.