On the road into the Mariner's Museum, Museum Drive, we caught sight of a sign pointing to the Peninsula Fine Arts Center and made a mental note to go visit, as they were featuring a special needlework exhibit that Susan was keen to see. Here begins something out of a sit-com.

After exiting the Mariner's Museum and getting in the car, we drove out of the parking lot and back to Museum Drive, expecting to see another sign. Only we didn't see one and Susan quite correctly pointed out that we did see one going in. With the main road in sight, we pulled a U-turn and headed back to the Mariner's Museum.

Sure enough, there's the sign at about hubcap-high level pointing to the right. We followed a narrow paved road as it skirted the Mariner's Museum's parking lot and picnic ground where we had just parked. I noticed this through the trees because workers were building a piece of playground equipment that looked an awful lot like Noah's Ark. We passed the Ark and saw another sign for the Peninsula Fine Arts Center. We pulled into the parking lot and sure enough, there was the Center.

At this point, I smacked myself on the head. We were maybe 100 feet from where we parked for the Museum. We had driven out, around, and back to almost exactly where we started, all because we had not seen any signs from the Museum pointing to the Center. In fact, you could walk between the two quite easily.

Enter the Stitcher

In any case, we entered the Center ($4 admission each) and wandered around the three main rooms, one hallway, and one gift shop. It would be interesting to see who could finish a museum faster--me in a needlework museum or my wife in a battlefield museum. But that's how our marriage works: one battlefield, one stitching spot; two battlefields, two stitching spots. That's detente, comrade.

I walked through the opening room fairly quickly, lingering a bit here and there over a particularly interesting piece or two. Then I do what all smart husbands do. I find a bench and sit down. If I'm really smart, I've brought the Fodor's Guide inside, or the tourist magazine.

Next, we went up a long sloping hall where some lady had done the equivalent of watercolor paintings all in machine stitching. We also watched a short 4-minute video about how she did it. They sell for $300+, which surprised me, as several were sold. This is more a gallery for sales than a museum, as we found other paintings and artwork for sale, many in the thousands of dollars, throughout the Center.

How about that! A cover charge to enter a gallery. And a "no photos" policy. That's a pet peeve of mine. I'm a shutterbug, and I use a photo here and there to remind me of the places I've been. No photos. Bah!

The other room at the end of the hall showed the paintings of somebody or other, who weaves old stories into the canvas. Several of those were sold, too.

The final room was a potpourri of styles and mediums. Some were interesting, but most, well, not. There as a short hallway with some other pieces between this final room and the gift shop. Oddly enough, Susan and I had the exact same reaction to the gift shop: for a fine arts center, it sure had a bunch of crap in it. I call that the "rubber tomahawk" syndrome.

Is it Art?

Yes, it is art. Did I like it? A piece here and there was OK. I admit that I enjoy art that mimics reality. I'm not too partial about impressionists, and think most modern art resembles the refrigerator art of children. And before you comment upon my art boorishness, I'd like to point out in my defense that my uncle is a professor of modern art and his work hangs in the NY Metropolitan Museum of Art, Guggenheim, Peabody, and other places that collect such. I've seen work in progress and finished pieces over the years, and been subjected to a variety of art theories over various holiday dinners. I'd also like to point out that whatever artistic genes flowed through the family line failed to manifest themselves in me, even though I visit art museums when I get the chance. The Louvre in Paris--now, that's my kind of art museum! Room after room of great art and photos allowed (or used to be).

So, I found the Peninsula Fine Arts Center a disappointment, although Susan really enjoyed the needlework special display.

We exited and headed off to the car to head on to the next stop. US Army Transportation Museum at Fort Eustis, VA. One stich spot, one battlefield...or military museum. Remember, that's how it works, comrade.

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