Today I spent 4 hours at the
Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Located at the beginning of the American paintings wing
was this one Edward Hopper
painting of a light house
that held my attention for
probably 45 minutes.
I decided that what was most
remarkable about this painting was
how the shadows were
rendered.
Later, I rounded a corner
and found a long rectangular
pink flowering portrait, gilded by lilies
it was a real live Alfonse
Mucha painting
of an actress portraying
Joan of Arc.
In one of the statue halls
there was a statue of Perseus
standing with Medusa's head in his
hand.
His sword energetically
occupied his right hand while
the gorgon's head hung in his
left,
her tongue obscenely lolling out of her mouth.
Standing in his shadow, my neck
inclined up towards his face,
I realized that even when I
find myself completely free to roam
a massive,
nationally-renowned art museum
full of different kinds of art,
I seek out
and am most struck by
the
pieces only once removed from their
inspired forms.
(Of course this claim about
statuary is debatable,
but can you hold your hand
out to Mona Lisa
and touch all 3 dimensions
of her face?)
That evening around 5
o’clock I went to dinner alone.
I grinned to myself the
whole time I sat at my solitary little table.
I had never been on a date
with myself before,
I had never been in the
company of a girl I enjoyed so much.
Here I was! Alone! With her!
In a Thai food restaurant in Midtown!
It felt naughty, in a good
way,
like sex in a playground at
night,
and as the sun began to sink
behind the roofs of the tall
buildings in Midtown
I though it must be about time for me
to be getting home.
Before I left
I thought about taking a
picture of myself with my phone,
at my solitary little table,
with my plate of half-finished Thai food,
but then I thought
perhaps it was a little
pathetic
to be happy about a day
spent alone in the big city.
After all,
how many others had found
themselves in the same place as me,
and how many had felt the
urge to create about it?
