I’d never been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’d guess this place is never empty, but what a day we picked to visit. Good Friday — and it was packed with families speaking every language you could imagine.
Even though we had all day to wander, after just a few hours, I was ready to leave. It was too much, in a good way. My head was spinning from everything I’d seen. Cezanne. Matisse. Van Gogh. Picasso. Manet. Monet. And plenty of others who studied with these greats, created art just as beautiful, but didn’t rise to the same level of fame.
I felt like a kid who’d been dropped off at an ice cream buffet. Good! Good! Better! Amazing! Woozy!
(I will always think of Min and Jason when I see Degas.)
I felt so privileged to spend this time with art I’d only ever seen in books. And in a city of sirens, honking and smelly food carts — the world seemed to come spinning to a halt as crowds quietly and politely moved from room to room in awe of these masterpieces.