Room with a View

Ironically, visiting popular masterpieces brings me closer to the populous and makes it hard to intimately take in the rare occasion. I recall meeting a small Van Gogh self-portrait in green that took my breath away. It was my first visit to the Musee d’Orsay and we seemed to be the only two in the room. His green-orange vibrant brushstrokes eyeing me as I eyed back. Other works I would try to seek out hints of underpainting—was that violet or crimson? Were the brushstrokes dry and flat, like Toulouse Lautrec on shirt-boards? Were they thick over thin? Mixed on the canvas or painted with a knife?

I am amused and embarrassed to stand in a mob scene to catch a glimpse of a crime or crash, but to catch a photo with our ubiquitous mobile phones. Now I pull back to see the irony of the scene—as I play my role as well.