Staring at Museum Walls

Before I started dating B, I rarely visited museums.  Of course, if someone asked me if I enjoyed going to museums, I would put on the most sophisticated look I could muster, tilt my head slightly to the right, adjust my eyeglasses, and respond in a British accent: “Why yes!  Museums are fabulous!”

And that wasn’t a lie.  Well, accept for the British accent part.  I did enjoy going to the museums before.  But for how long?  That was another matter.

A typical visit to the museum would go like this.  On a Saturday, I would enter the museum with my friend, eagerly approach the reception area, pay for my ticket while silently grumbling about the ticket price, and follow the crowd.  Looking at everything and reading virtually nothing, I would fly through the museum and be done within an hour (give or take 30 minutes depending on the size of the museum and more importantly, the size of the museum gift store).  Often, I would find myself waiting for my friend while sipping on a fruity-sounding-but-not-fruity-tasting beverage purchased for a reasonable price of $7.

Whenever I saw someone, who had obviously come to the museum alone, standing in front of an art piece for a ridiculously long time, I was convinced that person was either (1) pretending to conduct an in-depth analysis of the art while paying a closer attention to who is watching him or her (i.e., trying too hard), or (2) wondering what to eat for dinner (i.e., daydreaming).  I simply could not fathom what would motivate someone to stand and stare at an art piece for longer than a few seconds.

Since we have been together, we have visited numerous museums worldwide.  At first, I flew through the museums and ended up waiting for him at the museum gift stores and cafes.  Slowly, I found my way back to wherever he was lingering and we started talking.  Without trying to be anything but ourselves, we would simply chat about the art and the emotions and thoughts that came to our minds.  Slowly but surely, my nearly false interest in museums blossomed into the kind of love that will last a lifetime.

Now, I am that weirdo standing in front of an art piece, lost in my little timeless world, observing every corner of the museum and appreciating all the emotions, thoughts, and questions triggered by its components.  Someone may look at me and silently accuse me of daydreaming or simply, of being strange.

But it’s okay.  I have another weirdo standing next to me staring at the same wall, holding my hand.