National Gallery and the loo

The National Gallery is a lovely way to spend a rainy (almost snowy!) Saturday afternoon; that is, assuming you actually like art and enjoy staring at loads of pictures of white people having picnics in the buff. I’m more of a sculpture guy myself – there’s something more realistic and tangible about it. Maybe it’s some Pygmalion tendency of mine (canvas & frames = splinters …. OUCH!!!).

The most interesting sculpture of the day was the urinal in the men’s bathroom (shocking that I would find anything intriguing in the restroom). For those of you ladies who find the urinal to be something of a mythical creature that is always mentioned yet never seen (quite like a unicorn … and no, I will not allude to pointy objects), rest assured that urinals are a dime a dozen.

But this one was different. The standard width of a urinal is about shoulder length; enough to capture a steady stream of about a quarter-centimeter wide, with plenty of extra space to play “fireman” when no one’s looking.

This urinal was noticeably wider and projected out from the wall on both sides. The ends curved inward to give me privacy, while leaving plenty of space for my expression of excretion. It was odd; I felt like it was reaching out to give me a big ol’ hug. I was safe, secure, and protected by my urinal.

Who would have thought that my inspiration that afternoon would not come from Monet? Urinals, too, can leave an impression.