Gold Plated Sex

I was willing to go to Midlothian for Dr. Seuss.

Think about that. Me, a woman who detests the southside, drove fifteen miles to Bella Arte Gallery for the sake of seeing paintings, prints and part of the hat collection of the one and only Dr. Seuss.

The six miles on Robious Road felt like twenty, tedious and endless.

Walking in to the gallery, two women looked at me, my tights and made a disparaging remark, followed by condescending laughter behind their raised hands.

Spare me, ladies, I'm here for the art.

Theodroe Geisel had a thing for hats and part of his hat collection was on display tonight. That meant (obvi) the Cat in the Hat red and white stovepipe, a New South Wales fireman's brigade helmet, a red, feathered cap like the one Batholomew wore in "Batholomew Cubbins and the 500 Hats" and an elaborate feathered hat from Africa.

Many in the crowd, in fact, were wearing fanciful hats, but I'd come bare headed to this outpost of civilization.

Who knew Dr. Seuss worked for Standard Oil as a commercial artist, designing the Flit ads for the spray that killed flies and mosquitoes?

"Quick, Henry, the Flit!" the ads read, showing a distinctive Dr. Seuss female character and a harried looking mosquito trying to escape.

My favorite part was the tag line bubble, "Now improved with DDT!" Well, that's a little scary, Henry.

Without a doubt, my favorite painting in the whole show was "Abduction of the Sabine Woman," a classic retelling of the founding of Rome, although anything but classic in Dr. Seuss' hands.

The painting from 1930 showed a Dr. Seuss-like figure making off with a huge, bare-breasted, pink-nippled, ample-bottomed woman on his shoulder.

Hovering in one corner was Horton (although he didn't appear to be hearing a "who") and several characters who would show up years later in Dr. Seuss' seminal works. Except this is years before he writes his first children's book.

I milled around the crowd, trying to escape men in sock-less loafers and blazers who kept trying to chat me up until the speaker began.

It was Dr. Bill Dreyer, the curator of the Seuss collection for the past 14 years and - wait for it- a 1979 graduate of Midlothian High.

Now we understood how this obscure Midlothian gallery had scored the only regional showing of this exhibit of Dr. Seuss' art.

Dreyer spoke about spending time with Dr. Seuss' widow, Audrey, and how she'd offered to show him the good doctor's hat collection, a collection he'd begun when he was very young and continued through the seven years of his military service and right up until he died.

Like the "midnight paintings" he'd worked on night after night, the hats were hidden in a secret room behind a shelf in the library, James Bond style.

Apparently, when Seuss' dinner parties lagged, he'd pulled out the hats, put them on heads and instruct his guest to carry on as the characters the hats suggested.

That's a party I'd like to go to. Give me a hat and let me become someone else.

Stressing the impact Seuss had had on literacy ("The 'Cat in the Hat' shot a dart in the ass of 'Dick and Jane' books"), Dreyer went on to talk about Seuss' "midnight paintings," influenced by surrealism and done after the arduous business of writing children's books was done for the day.

I was thrilled that he stopped to dwell on the "Sabine" painting, saying that the beginnings of Dr. Seuss' characters could be seen in the surrounding animals. Well, duh. But because it was  such an early work, the palette was also dramatically different than what we know of Seuss' work.

He pointed out "Green Cat with Lights,"  a painting signed by Strooga von M., but really done by Seuss and hung in a place in his home where he could ask visitors' opinions without them knowing it was his. Because, while he didn't want his art to be judged, he wanted to know what others thought.

Perhaps most importantly, the green cat lurking in the background was an obvious precursor to the Grinch.

Theodore Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss, painted only 140 paintings over a long career, but his ear for poetry was honed early. I loved hearing his very first poem.

Mrs. van Bleck
of the Newport van Blecks
is so god damned rich
she has gold plated sex

Whereas Miggles and Mitzi
and Bitzie and Sue
have the commonplace thing
and it just has to do

After Dreyer's talk, I sauntered around the gallery to see the rest of the work, including "Venetian Cat singing Oh, Solo Meow," a keyhole glimpse into the technicolor world of Venice circa 1967. If nothing else, the exuberant colors screamed the swinging  '60s.

And while the Midlothian crowd did not suit me (nor I them), not one, not two, but three men commented on my floral burgundy tights and two also mentioned my lovely legs. A couple also wanted to discuss the art.

By the time I left, I'd not only savored the work of a multi-talented man with an ear for poetry and an eye for whimsical characters, but been reminded that my place is far from Robious Road.

Quick, Henry, get me back to the city!