I thought this bust was fascinating:
Then I went to the Impressionist Exhibition. These gorgeous paintings are on loan from the National Gallery of Art so I’ve seen them before, but it did not diminish the experience. As soon as I saw this, tears welled up in my eyes. Vincent Van Gogh is my favorite painter, and his work speaks to a wavering, shimmering joy and happiness inside me. It says even in those dark days, that is what is important, what is most real and most human. His portrait of roses against a green background, Boots, and Starry Night all have that effect on me.
I loved the experience of seeing it so much I did something risky: I played dumb, whipped out my camera, and snapped the only self-portrait that means a damn:
They were on me like I’m on the Australian rugby team. “Ma’am, ma’am, no photography!”
I apologized profusely, but I didn’t regret it. Not at all.
The day got better when I went into the gift shop – almost as if I was called into it – and there, by the door, was the Eiffel Tower. I immediately asked how much it was but the saleslady didn’t know. I found a smaller one, but wanted the large one. So I waited in the long check out line, and asked her to look up the price. When she gave it to me, she hadn’t even finished speaking when I said, “I’ll take it.”
It is now on my fireplace with my stacks of to-be-read books while I settle on a place to put it.
I’m crazy in love with it. It’s a ridiculous item, but it means a lot to me. It reminds me of where I’m going.