My afternoon at the Met in NYC was a journey into heaven and back. Yes, I’m a museum geek. An art museum geek, in particular. I once had to be escorted out of the AIC because it was closing and I wanted to sleep there. Show me a room full of Impressionist paintings and the rest of the world fades away.
I blame it on my mother. She’s a painter, a true artist. I never had a choice. But then, there’s really no need for blame. I derive great joy from art! Since NYC is home to so many amazing museums – my recent trip had to include a stop at one of them, if not more than one. Time, allowed one. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. AKA: the Met.
As I was taking the B line north to the Upper West Side, I still hadn’t decided. Would I continue on to the Guggenheim? I was dying to see the architecture of the immense lobby for myself. Would I bow to my love of history and visit the AMNH? In the end, the Impressionists were calling my name and on such a beautiful spring day as it was – such a call seemed fitting. I took the bus across Central Park and found myself on the steps of the Met. Perhaps you can imagine my excitement? I couldn’t contain it, literally trembling from adrenaline fed euphoria!
After 20 + years spent dreaming of walking these halls: I think I heard angels singing during this portion. I’m only 1/2 kidding.I wanted to sit down and join this class.
Auguste Rodin…..*girly sigh* Romance personified in stone.
My tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was quick. So, after a while I stopped taking pictures. I just sat and enjoyed the art. I journaled. I marveled. I fell in love. I drank in inspiration in such huge quantities my brain couldn’t process it all. I saw a perfect sunset painted by Arkhip Ivanovich Kuindzhi that was fitting since it was in fact, a Sunset Sunday. I saw a phrase that said “un’amica stretta” and was told it translated to “a close friend” in Italian; this fit my experience perfectly. The Met is now a close friend, art has always been my close friend. In the Met, as in so many other museums around the world, I felt at home. On my way out I passed two paintings that just made me fall to bits all over again. “The Storm” by Pierre-Auguste Cot and “Joan of Arc” by Jules Bastien-Lepage will stay with me forever. The beauty in both those paintings was sensory overload. The somewhat haunted and longing look that was in Joan of Arc’s eyes in the painting by Lepage cut me to the core. A look I understood. If not for the other activities calling my name in New York…they might have had to escort me out just like at the AIC!
My last stop on the way back to the Village? Well, food of course…