“Do you like museums? This one is famous for that scene in the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”
“I love museums.”
“Which ones have you been to?”
“I’ve never been to a museum.”
I’ve walked past these lions many a time, and my mind always goes back to that movie scene where Cameron is staring intently into the little girls eyes in the painting, his own eyes welling up with tears.
I find that this painting is still here, and I stare at it for an eternity. I try to explain what this means to me, but trying to explain how art makes one feel is like explaining the origins of the universe or how God created all living things and that science is just wrong. Some things just can’t be done.
Calm sadness washes over me as I go from one exhibit to another. I lose my frustrations and find peace here in the galleries. I get lost in the painted eyes that show me the artists soul. I taste the wonder of creativity in each stroke of the brush.
I leave with a renewed resolve in the fact that my happiness is not wrapped up in the person I thought had the key.
I’ve had the key in my own proverbial pocket all along. I just need to open the door to the dream academy…