Copyright 2010 Ben S. Pollock
DATELINE MIRTHOLOGY — My client Crystal Britches was sweltering in her plastic rain gear. It neared 90 this morning at the Fayetteville Farmers Market — nearly all the summer veggies were available but no musicians or sidewalk artists — but the forecast had projected rain.
“Hon’. I thought I’d find you here,” she said to me. “Let’s talk about the new art museum up the road. The name could be better.”
“Why wear that vinyl storm suit, Ms. Britches? It’s June 24th.”
“Hon’, you know to call me Crystal. The walkabout sauna helps me keep my figure. I’m the same size I was 40 years ago. And with my shorts, I can show off these old showgirl legs.”
We ran into one another on the Square. We usually do. A scheduled meeting wasn’t till the end of the week, but neither of us minded talking business casually, at a sleek conference table or on a shady bench tucked in a hosta bed.
What an awkward name for the very first world-class museum in Northwest Arkansas,” said Crystal. “It would be as bad as if I built one to show off my philanthropy. But if I had, it’d be simple. If it were me, Crystal Britches, Museum of American Art. That’s it. But it all boils down to being a Museum of Other People’s Art.
“But the set-up is by a foundation, and it’s one I don’t belong to, closely held. They’re listening to the Northwest Arkansas Council. They’re the sort that thinks of an acronym then the words for it. Mopa, Museum of Ozark Pride — and Academy.”
“Oh,” I said. “It’s like Moma, Continue reading