Time for some New World art.
Ever meet someone who personifies the old saying "Couldn't find his own ass using both hands"?
Now you know what that looks like.
Another Robertson-inspired composition. This style is growing on me. Did I do it right?
BTW, the shadow behind the man's ear is actually a reflection of my ear.
It was in this next room, where I remarked "It looks like they looted a Mexican church", that the weirdness began.
Mexican folk art and religious art appeal to be in a big way, from the Day of the Dead to Catholicism to altars and even tourist junk. At first I was really enjoying myself.
Right around this part of the exhibit I started getting a feeling I know all too well. My heart started racing, my scalp tingled, my stomach dropped out my ass and ran away...
(BTW--while Photoshopping this photo the eye moved while I was looking right at it!)
It didn't take long to figure out (as I almost ran past it) that this big and complicated altar was the source of my discomfort.
In fact, I had to wait a few minutes before returning to get the picture, and I'll be damned if it didn't start all over again.
Say what you will about the supernatural, especially the concepts of ghosts and haunted places.
Can't be proven, agreed. (Yet! Never seen a radio wave but I have enough proof to admit they exist).
But why is it that a large percentage of people from every known civilization since the dawn of time believe?
Coincidence? Don't be foolish. Statistically impossible.
It's because they have experienced very strange things, as have I for most of my life.
Always associated with very specific locations.
Always seen/heard/felt by others.
The place I lived before moving here was haunted as hell, and I have plenty of witnesses. Impossible things happened late at night, and we could actually bring them on by talking about ghosts after 3am.
I would get smacked in the face while sleeping and awake to find my arms were under the covers, so it wasn't me thrashing around hitting myself. A quick run to the mirror would allow me to see the marks before blood started to flow.
As the paint on my walls faded I discovered bullet holes, and asked a neighbor about the deaths in my place. He confirmed.
I'm a rational and intelligent man who could have lived quite happily NOT believing in this stuff, but an open mind and careful examination of the evidence leaves no other explanation.
And like I said, I've got LOTS of witnesses.
(Some of whom would rather not talk about it while others think I should write a book).
So trust me when I tell you that there is a haunted room at the San Antonio Museum of Art. Whether it's connected to the objects displayed within or from something that happened in the building's previous life as a brewery I can't tell you.
I just know what side of which room I'm going to be careful about visiting.
And I fully intend to return, because it's also my favorite exhibit.
I'll just have to work quickly.