And I was like what? Because my mother was actually in San Diego at the moment.
Then my cousin texted me a photo of a poster in an elevator at the MOMA. There was an Asian lady in a poster. I was pretty sure it was a joke, because my cousinâ€™s husband was the one who pointed it out and he is someone who jokes a lot and can hold a straight face for admirably long periods of time.
But then she sent me another text with a close-up of the poster, and as I slowly started to recognize the bright green skirt, my eye finally focused on the face â€“ and sure enough, it was definitely my mama. The museum had taken her picture as she was walking up the stairs ith her friend. She was one of four images in the poster, but hers was the only one of just her.
She looks beautiful, and itâ€™s a beautiful picture in a beautiful poster.
But then Iâ€™m like, how can they take her image and not tell her or pay her or tell anyone who goes to the museum, oh hi, we take pictures of you and we might use it in our marketing materials, thanks! The other pictures were clearly stock images.
So while part of me was psyched, another was annoyed. Hey, what about privacy, who owns the rights to my momâ€™s image, yo, what about the dough?
I dashed off a kind of chest-thumping email and fantasized about retiring with my income as my mom’s talent manager for her new global print modeling career. Then I thought about weird things like dude, what if she had died, or what if she were on the run from the mob, or lpaying hooky from work, or what if she were having an affiar. She needs recompense, a meal, a free membership, a million dollares! But when I called my mom to tell her, she said â€œOh! Do you think we get a free poster?”
That’s all she wants. Just a poster. So I contacted the museum, got a photo release for my her to sign, a promise of a poster, and a year’s membership.