Night at the museum

            I must have had a dream about Bob Ross last night, because I can't explain why he was the first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning. Or, maybe it was because I knew it was Saturday morning and my mind went to a place from my early childhood, which associated Saturday mornings with waking up early to watch cartoons. Although, I would always wake up a little too early and get stuck watching Bob Ross paint another landscape out of some magical place in his mind. As a 6 year old, the last thing I wanted, first thing on a Saturday morning, was another adult telling me how to do something. However, after five minutes of listening to the hippy tone in Bob's voice and watching his crafty hands create snow capped mountains with a few flicks of a brush had me at the edge of my twin sized bed every time. He would always make a new brush materialize from somewhere off screen, and I could never quite understand how it would just appear in his hand for the next stroke of genius. I'm convinced he had a few of his favorites hiding in his poufy curled hair.

            For the past few days I've been feeling the pull to create something new or be around art. I haven't felt this impulse in quite a while, but when the feeling comes along, I have to harness it. It's in these few fleeting moments that I can make magical things happen when I do, thanks to Bob Ross.  When I try to be artistic on a day that I'm not feeling the inspiration, my work always looks like the stuff I would have come up with when I was six. Since I didn't have the time to create a masterpiece today, I thought maybe it was time I visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art before it closed tonight. I've had the pleasure of visiting a few of the other museums in the city but never the famed MET, and tonight was the night.

            Once I purchased my tickets and walked passed the stoic guards glaring at me in the entrance, I popped my earphones in, hit the play button and I was surfing a wave of classic music for my ears and culture for my eyes. While I was wandering the maze of the MET, I couldn't help but feel that there was something strangely haunting about going to a museum that harbors historical artifacts. This one in particular put me in such a somber mood. I nearly got a little teary for reasons I'm not sure of. I suppose it may have been the Adagio For Strings I was listening to, or, it could have been the realization that all of these amazing artists were now gone. Some of them were never recognized in their living days or all too late to really enjoy the pleasures of success. Some of them lived as tortured souls trying desperately to express themselves in a time where people suffered far worse things in life than most of us ever will.  The exhibits in the museum geared more towards ancient Egyptian, Asian, Islamic, Greek and Roman art. And when I happened to walk a corner and I was starring straight at a Monet painting, my heart nearly stopped and I'm pretty sure I wasn't breathing for a few seconds. I couldn't believe my eyes, a real Monet painting right before me. Not a print in a bad frame, or a calendar with twelve copies of some of Monet's more popular paintings for my viewing pleasure, one month at a time. No! The real deal!

            Impressionism has always been my favorite form of art because I love the way light seems to dance on life. And Monet is the father of impressionism. It was love at first painting with Monet. In his early career, most of his paintings were of his first wife of almost eight years. She died at a very young age of tuberculosis, after having their second child, Michel. It was heartbreaking to see those paintings because you could almost see how he felt about her with every brush stroke. Ah, l'amour. It doesn't seem like that anymore.

            Before I had a chance to get through the rest of Monet's collection, I had a big burly guard ogling me a foot from my face telling me that the museum was about to close. My mouth dropped when I took a look over his shoulder and saw that there was a whole other room yet to be seen of my favorite painter. No! I'm not done yet! This guy was not going to hear my protests though. He wanted to go home for the night or just be left alone. However, as I was ushered down the hall, I happened to eyeball one of Monet's paintings that I just had to see and stepped off route to take a peek. Before I could get the title of it though, this guy was on me like I was an international art thief about to escape from his custody. Sheesh! This guy meant business. If I ever need a bodyguard, I'm going to look that guy up.