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The Impact of Art

My cars hum was steady as I pulled into a parking space. I turned the key and felt the car's power cease. I opened up my car door and headed towards one of the most extraordinary building I have ever laid eyes on. As I got close I could see the concrete steps and the massive columns in the front of the building. They towered over the entrance, but still seemed as if they were beckoning me to take a closer look. I started up the steps, trying to take in all that was this downtown building.

As I walked up the steps I glided my hand against the columns and felt their coldness. I opened the large glass door and entered the building, the ceiling opened up and engrossed me. It looked as if it was infinite. The main room lead to what seemed like hundreds of others. They all intertwined together and held the most precious artwork. I vered to my right and entered the first section of rooms. When I first walked in, I saw a line of brown couches and the room opened up. There were massive painting hung up all around the room. They were simply stunning. I drifted around the room trying to absorb all of the paintings. The canvas that Max Beckmann's work was done on, was taller and wider than me. I kept going around the room and I kept ending up back at one paint in particular. It was of a woman in a turquoise leotard and her body was disproportionate. The floor beneath her was a hot orange and reminding me of warmth. She holds herself up and in the background you can see another acrobat doing the same vague thing behind her. Her legs were swirls of purple and flesh tone. He face features are strong and painted harshly. She was not your average lady, but she was captured in such a unique way. This acrobat was perfectly imperfect, and she made me feel comfort. Looking at that painting was like being home and curled up in bed. I peeled my eyes away from her to venture into the next room of paintings.


Another painting had caught my eye. It was pastels of green, pink, blue, and yellow. The colors separated by white and black lines varying in thickness. It was an abstract piece that I could still see a picture in. The white lines contoured a man sitting at a table and he sat with a single rose alongside a vase of various flowers. It was if he was waiting on someone who would never come. I started to feel my face heat up and my heart ache. I’ve seen this so many times and been there myself, it's heartbreaking to wait on something you know is never coming, yet you still can't seem to let it go. This man was trying to be so happy which was portrayed by the pastels, but he is hunched over and looking away. After falling for this magnificent painting I look over to see the artist's name, and it was Picasso. No wonder I felt so many emotions from a few brush strokes, this man had such a talent and here I was getting to see his work up close and personal. There was a whole room filled with his paintings and I was flabbergasted by them. I eventually made my way out of the room so I could attempt to explore more of this immaculate building. The gallery rooms had started to become bigger the farther I went back. I was seeing more sculptures the deeper I was in the museum. It was if I was hit by a brick wall when I walked in the next room. I turned to my left feeling like there was something important to see. In the moment the air was stagnant and I could smell only my own perfume. The painting that was staring at me and took up the whole wall. A black and white painting with touches of yellow seemed as if it was moving when I concentrated at it. I began to feel a warm sensation on my face. I reached up to wipe away what I knew were tears. This painting was of a man holding a woman in his arm. He looked as if he could hold her there forever in his arms, just slightly dipping her. They looked as if they were dancing to a melody that only the two of them could hear. A path behind them dashed in white and yellow seemed to show a past of trouble the lead to what they have now. Trying to gain my composure I sat down on a bench in the middle of the room. The silver bars were cold against my skin and it helped bring me back to reality. Mondrian Dancing had just invoked so much emotion I didn't know how to process it. I was just in awe of the brush strokes and coloring, let alone everything together. I became overwhelmed in such a pleasant way. I lost track of time as I just sat there and processed it all. I could hear footsteps of other people go by, but I still just stayed in place. I eventually felt like I should move on and keep looking around the museum before I left that day. The artwork left me with almost no words. Hours later I made my way back to the enormous entrance. I passed some of the workers and quickly exchanging goodbyes and I was out on those concrete steps again. The wing was strong that day, I could hear a whistle in my ear and my hair was everywhere. I didn't mind one bit because today was a day I knew I would never forget.






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