On MFA

It was raining today. Eighteen dollars is the price to stay dry whist surrounded by heavily gilded frames, creaking floors, and noisy school tours.

How do you do that with paint?

Silent, empty rooms, just as the galleries have opened. Alone except for the curators, lurking awkwardly too close as wandering happens, trying carefully not to miss anything.

The impressionist room is my favorite. And the flying kids. And the great sweeping corridor with the highest ceilings filled with religious art. Especially that one empty space where stood nothing but wires and a note card.

Wandering, eyes tracing, looking for something that will steal breath; occasionally pausing to read a title, an artist’s name, a short description.

These are souls laid out on canvas.

How is God depicted here? The annunciation, the crucifixion, the trinity, altars, icons, sculptures…

Who is that supposed to be?
Jesus
Psh, Jesus doesn’t look like that.

Infinite truth in those words, thrown out thoughtlessly by a high school girl. God cannot be encompassed in art.

Museums are like libraries to me. I love wandering slowly, taking time to look at things possibly missed by the quickest movers. What’s in that small frame in the corner of the random off-the-beaten-path room? Yeah, I know what it is.

Don’t step too loudly. Beauty of this caliber deserves reverence. Museums… my kind of place. Quiet, immaculately clean, filled with people and art and inspiration, so familiar yet full of so many new discoveries.

Light: what makes a painting perfect.

Stand just close enough to listen in on a tour group.

These feet are tired from finding freedom. These eyes are heavy with not enough sleep. This mind is racing, loving these moments.

I love being able to be on my own in a city.

It’s typical to have waffles, as you can see the lady is eating waffles, at this feast.

She talks about the lighting… yes! That always makes me want to be a tour guide: to have that much knowledge and be able to pass it on to the world… but how is that helping anyone?

Continuing on.

.:.


Written whilst sitting beneath Bandits Leading Prisoners by Dutch painter, Jan Both, (1646, oil on canvas).