Chapter 17

“How come statues are always naked?” the kid asked as we climbed past Air, the Maillol sculpture that greets the museum’s visitors.

“You got me, kid. Maybe artists all have a secret yen to be porn directors.”

“Are you sure this place is free?”

“This part is. Let’s start with the new exhibition, shall we?”

I didn’t say anything as the kid’s sulk changed into grudging interest. He actually got into the restoration process, even venturing to question the volunteers on a few points. I wanted to drag him along, show him everything before dinner, but it was better this way. There would be other days and other visits. The Getty Center isn’t something you “take in” in an afternoon, after all

Since we were on the west side, we continued into the more modern art collections. The kid came out of the photography center with big eyes and a shell-shocked expression. I took pity on him and detoured outside to let him come down to earth in the cactus garden, hanging over the valley.