Just give me a little corner- preferably in the Renaissance European section- to kip up a little tent- I promise to keep it hidden- with a little bed and some food- nonperishable, of course-and I’m sure I can live a very happy life in The Walters Art Museum. Heck, if you want I’ll even conduct a tour or two weekly, you don’t even have to pay me!
Now this would be my proposition to the people at the Walters for some living space in their four story tall art museum. The chances of it actually working- quite slim. The Walters, a modest museum in its own right lives on a humble street in Baltimore. The structure of this museum, like most, is quite ironic. The juxtaposition of the bland beige concrete bricks on the outside, creating a box like shape contrasts so vigorously with the concoction of colors, thoughts and emotions hiding inside- how can one look at it and even fathom what it could hold?
This particular trip was my second time visiting the museum, much different than my first exposure. No school bus filled with freshman kids, no chaperones, no time limit. Instead, it was me, four years later as a senior in high school returning with two close friends and a whole day to spend staring- and at times drooling- at art. Little did I know I would be so captivated by the world this place had to offer. Climb up the stairs that greet you as you first enter and your breath has been taken in the first few seconds as you gaze at the sun’s rays setting upon the lobby with Greek statues along its perimeters. Walk a few steps and you’ve been taken out of the Greek world to medieval Europe, full with armor and weaponry…a few more steps and you’ve entered a room with a darker motif, dimmer lights, burgundy colored walls and portraits of saints or lovers.
This trip changed my perspective on how I viewed the world, it dove me into the epitome of human creativity and with a strong grasp led me to appreciate the arts and humanities even more and why they were important for our survival. Going to the Walters also helped me understand the artists more as well- in the process of creating a masterpiece, they generally have the hardest job. It is hard to decide who is the harshest critic; society relative to that time period, contemporary observers, the patron or the artist himself. Even though majority of the time the masterpieces these artists created were commissioned by patrons, art was an escape from a bustling complex world. Essentially artists speak two languages, one of the real world and one of the art medium. The true artists translates chaos, simplicity, abstract ideas, emotions into the language of brushstrokes, hues, mediums and perspective- leaving observers speechless.
For a few hours that day, in the company of Dure, Monet, Greek statues, portraits of Mother Mary and Jesus, Turner, everything seemed so simple, a simplified version of life. Perhaps this is why those artists created these works in the first place, whatever emotion, idea, event they were trying to convey, being in front of a blank canvas or untouched stone provided a sense of peace and escape from the push and pull of the world’s troubles. It is hard to describe in words the feeling of entering a room full of paintings, lit only by the sun coming in from the window- an aura is created as you stare upon each piece, a burning in your eyes- a wonder at how such a thing could be created- who knows, does it hurt more to look at it or tear your eyes away?
