Crossing back over to the DeWitt side of the museum, things got a bit more formal.
And a trifle bizarre.
I think a little 18th Century photoshopping was in order here.
Okay then.
I saw the portrait of the gentleman on the left and thought, “What’s with the hair?”
And apparently I wasn’t the only one who asked.
It was an extensive gallery.
And according to George…. will be even more extensive soon.
Another sad statement of the times.
This couple struck me as a little odd.
Is it me or does the wife’s right arm look a wee bit…. off? As in, did the creepy husband chop it off and line it back up for the portrait?
We’ll never know.
At the far end of the gallery there was a video that was oddly mesmerizing.
And then on the way out there was a chair, which I forgot to photograph.
But George didn’t like it.
Chairs that were no good for sitting.
Excellent.
Through with the museum, we realized we’d not only skipped lunch but were now ready for dinner.
When I asked the husband what he was in the mood for, he said anything… so I picked a well reviewed barbecue restaurant in Williamsburg.
And the husband didn’t like it from the minute we stepped through the door.
Why?
Who knows.
They brought us yummy cornbread to munch while we looked at the menu.
Which he also didn’t like.
Pulled pork sundae? Come on… what’s wrong with that!
I managed to talk him into staying for appetizers.
So he had a chili he didn’t like either.
I went with some spicy steamed shrimp.
And while the rest of the customers were enjoying large platters of succulent looking food, he told me to pick another place because all they had on the menu was barbecue.
Gee. Who woulda thunk it?
People always think I’m the picky one, but when it comes to eating out my husband will drive you to drink.
Which in my case isn’t necessarily a negative…. but still.
The second restaurant that night was Italian.
Everyone raved about Sal’s, so I figured, why not?
He couldn’t complain about the menu being small.
It went on for multiple pages.
The garlic knots were perfect.
(Okay, I ate 4. Don’t judge.)
The salads were fresh and tasty.
My veal Marsala was tender, perfectly cooked and filled with wine soaked mushrooms.
He certainly couldn’t complain his chicken parmigiana was a small portion.
Good God, it was huge.
But you know what? He didn’t like this place either.
And heck, I’m the one who should have been complaining….there were no cocktails!
The portrait gallery was large…. and filled with strange and marvelous things.
Can’t say I’d enjoy having her as a Mother in Law.
They are smiling?
Perhaps the weight of that elaborate hair is pulling their lips down.
Oh my.
They say all babies are cute, but I beg to differ.
This is a girl.
And this is a boy.
No, I haven’t had too many margaritas.
It was explained to me that folk art paintings of little girls have cats… and folk art paintings of little boys have dogs. The hoop is also a boy’s toy, never played with by girls.
Yes, another boy.
Could have fooled me.
There were a few sad paintings, like this one….
Since all the family members in black are dead.
But there’s a chicken, so it’s not all bad.
And while these two portraits aren’t the most skillful, they had the saddest story of all.
Jonathan Bartlett was a black man who chose to portray himself as white…. in a heartbreaking statement of life in his time.
Lightening the mood, there was George again….
And whatever this was –
I can’t even do a Name That Crap because I have no idea…
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 