I spend an afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum in New York
wandering through the galleries.
As I walk I start to feel overwhelmed by the vast visual expression
of humans through the centuries,
each exquisite object a world of attention and care.
Where do I fit in ?
My head feels heavy and my feet drag . . .
I find a quiet spot to sit and write out the confusion,
letting the sadness spill forth and settle through the touch of pen on paper
and my familiar honest handwriting.
Then I get up and head into the Asian Collection.
I had walked past these earthenware figures many times in the past,
loving their roughness and wacky smiles.
But then I would think "tomb figures" - oooh - dead space - don't want to go there . . .
This time I let them delight me.
They are back from the dead - encased in a glass tomb now
but surrounded by the movement of humans passing by.
I stop, open the sketchbook, and dance with them for awhile.
The exchange lifts my spirits.
I am back in connection again.
