Donning a checker-print jacket and celestial dress, I found peace and quiet on a busy October Friday in the Peabody Essex Museum.
The first hour or two, my feet led me to maritime exhibits and galleries I’d missed on my first visit. My impulses couldn’t resist returning to something familiar, though: the Japanese art room. And, like that first visit, I found myself perched on a bench in front of a Hinamatsuri (Girls’ Day) doll display from the 1930s or 1940s.
Hinamatsuri itself was a small yet special March celebration in our home. Bachan gave me a beautiful holiday hair-comb display long before I can remember, one that stayed with me through multiple moves. My brother and I each had our own fish flags hung outside every year: a pink one for my Girls’ Day and a blue one for his May Boys’ Day (Tango no Sekku). Bachan may not have taught us the language, but she celebrated us the Japanese way.
The holiday wasn’t the primary memory trigger; it was the doll display itself.
Bachan had two china cabinets full of beautiful artifacts from Japan (and even Germany) since way before I was born. Some of these items included little dolls that look a lot like the dolls in the museum. I recall almost bursting a blood vessel when she, feeling her age, mentioned throwing everything out. (Obviously saying “Absolutely not” to that was the most passionate “no” I’ve ever given someone.) So her china cabinet items became mine after her passing and a thorough garage purge.
Sometimes I feel guilty that the dolls are still traveling alongside me, especially since Bachan herself didn’t get 100% stability in the last few years of her life. I think that’s the wrong way to look at it, though. The dolls have crossed states and apartments in countless cardboard boxes with me. If anything, they’re proof that loved ones have a funny way of accompanying us long after they’re gone.
Have you ever encountered a museum exhibit that spoke to you like this? I’d love to hear about what touched your soul in the comments.
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