Well, it’s just been announced in London that an artist named Mark Wallinger, aged 48, has won the prestigious Turner Prize. He is apparently famous in certain circles for parading around a Berlin art gallery in a bear suit to suggest something about the bearish nature of German politics, I believe. The Turner Prize was not for that but for staging what looks like an anti-war protest and that strikes me as very cool.

This from today’s Guardian from Wallinger—’I think art needs to engage the viewer and has to have a hook that isn’t entirely cerebral … I like Velázquez, Manet, Warhol - realists that held up a mirror to their society that was radical, but not pedantic.’

I really love that. He is speaking directly to the vital concern of any aware human being—peace. Amazing he won a prize that is both prestigious and established. It’s an art statement in itself that such a message can be acclaimed in these times. So, hurray, Mark Wallinger.

On another note—the Saturday Morning Ladies Drawing Club went on a field trip this past Saturday to The Natural History Museum at Harvard, ostensibly to draw. We met first at the diner for breakfast.

Then we got on the bus to Harvard Square to travel the few miles to the museum. Some of us hadn’t taken a bus in a while and there was a bit of a delay while we fished for quarters etc. The fare has tripled since I last rode it.

We walked from the bus across the park towards Harvard Law School. It was a frigid cold day, the first one we’ve had, and some of our group had not dressed warmly enough.

We started off at the North American Indian exhibit where we were greeted by an enthusiastic guard. We ladies are not unaware of enthusiasm. Even though it was almost ten when we arrived there was no one at the museum and he was sitting on a bench with a book eager for a bit of conversation. I explained that we were here to draw and he was exceedingly encouraging. We can take encouragement. One of our group had been to the installation of the new totem pole so we all went to see it. I explained to the guard that we were on our way to do some drawing in the animal and bird departments.

‘You must come back,’ he said. And he meant it!

We pressed on after spending a little time with the Day of the Dead exhibit from Mexico. Not that we were feeling morose, far from it. For a moment or two, I worried that we’d never get to the ‘natural’ part of the museum. It’s a fantastic place and there are so many places to be waylaid. I had to let go of expectation and just flow. So what if we drew—there are wondrous things to study in this place.

But, we pressed on, in time.

I was intent on getting to one very special room. We had to pass through rooms of stuffed animals.

I’m always gobsmacked by the little deer. She’s so young, so sweet. She gave her life for us. And there she is. She reminds me of how sweet we all can be, how fleeting our time and how we go on (not in stuffed form, I hope, but in another)—all at the same time.

But I had something else I wanted to show the class before I set them loose to draw.

It’s the best room in the place, I think—so spectacular to look up and see an entire skeleton of a whale.

We climbed the stairs to the upper level. Only Maureen stayed behind and when I looked down I found her sketching.

We then split up, each to find whatever she wanted to draw. There is the glass flower room, of course. A father and son spent fifty years making these flowers out of glass and they are accurate reproductions of real flowers.

We’d decided to meet at the gift shop at 11:30 but some of us arrived early. It’s nearly Christmas, after all.

Afterwards we sat on a bench outside the glass flower room and showed each other our sketches. We hadn’t done many. It was too exciting to see all this stuff but we decided we must come back, and often.

We headed home.

And waited for the bus at Harvard Station underground. Some of our party left us in Harvard Square for other pursuits.

I tell you all these things because our trip was so filled with fun, the good spirits of a small band of emerging artists. Not Turner prize winners though roughly the same vintage as Mark Wallinger and just as pro-peace. Our little outing seemed proof again that life is art. The best one yet. It’s the prize.