some things last a long time
I bought those sparkly dazzle markers on Instagram. I did it first thing this morning. Yes, we need those markers. We need all the dazzle…
I bought those sparkly dazzle markers on Instagram. I did it first thing this morning. Yes, we need those markers. We need all the dazzle and beauty and twinkle lights.
I went the museum yesterday. I hugged a dear friend on the steps of the museum and then we went inside. Temperature taken and tickets bought. It was so quiet.
The marble bust from the 2nd century, huge and beautiful, partially missing the back of his head, was the first thing that stopped me in my tracks.
I said, Don’t you just want to put your hand in his mouth?
Sweet baby Eros, napping happily, bronze wings draped over ancient rock. I took a picture to show the girls how cute he was just lying there. The slit gongs, enormous carved wooden instruments, crafted by people on northern Vanautu, used to create rhythms, a ceremonial orchestra, a coded signal to neighboring villages.
The layered terror of Richter’s scoured colors and lines. The distance created to protect, to obscure, to be able to consider the horrors of the past that feel close again. The truth that some things take a long time.
The Hopper that brought more tears to my eyes, the way it holds the time inside the picture — preparing for another night at the restaurant, just a Thursday night for them, for us, nostalgia for the what we thought was mundane.
I would give just about anything to be medium-drunk in a late-night diner with my loves and friends. I’ll pay the check, I don’t care. Pass it this way, I’ll take care of it.
Thank you, Lauren. Thank you, stolen artifacts. Thank you, museums and museum workers — for the temples, the still water inside of buildings, the vastness of the beauty of things. Thank you.