I leave my apartment in Astoria, Queens around 6 pm on Friday night. I’m headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. I love the Met, but it’s been about six months since I’ve been there, and I miss it.
On Fridays and Saturdays the Met is open until 9pm, which is really awesome. It’s less crowded at that time, and there’s also a romantic feeling in the air, like you’re really doing something exciting and cool that can usually only be done during the day.
I walk the 12 minutes from my apartment of 34th Street to the subway at Astoria Boulevard. About seven minutes later I board a W train bound for Manhattan. I listen to music on the trip in, mostly classic rock, Layla and such.
I transfer for the 5 train at 59th and Lexington, and six minutes later I’m at 86th and Lex. I walk west toward 5th Avenue, and ten minutes later I’m approaching the Met at 82nd and 5th. It’s an incredibly formidable building, just a majestic example of Greek architecture with imposing columns. The stairs to the entryway are steep, and you feel like you’re really going somewhere special when you ascend them.
I enter the museum and, after a brief security check of my bag, which I pass with flying colors, I’m at the ticket counter. The funny thing is, most people are just walking by the counter and not even paying, so I start to wonder if it’s free in the evening.
“Um, do I need to buy a ticket?” I ask the cashier.
“Yes, $25,” she says.
“I thought it was suggested admission, but you can pay whatever you want,” I say.
“It is, if you live in New York City,” she says. “What’s your zip code?”
I tell her, and she inputs it into the computer.
“OK, what do you want to pay?”
“$2, I say.” I give her a $20, receive $18 in change, and I’m in.
I start in the Egyptian wing, checking out some of the jewelry and lacquerware. It’s pretty cool stuff. It’s always been amazing to me how advanced the Egyptians were, and how intricate and sophisticated their art and religion was.
Next I make my way to the Temple of Dendur, which is one of my favorite places in the whole museum. The Temple of Dendur was built by the Roman governor of Egypt, Petronius, around 15 BC. It was dedicated to the Egyptian Gods Isis and Osiris.
Whatever the story is, it’s just an incredible room. The ceiling is all glass and has views of Central Park, and the temple itself contains three sets of arches. In the center is a cauldron of some sort, and the whole thing is just very cool.
I always feel chilled out when I’m in the Temple of Dendur.
Next I make my way to the American Wing, where I check out some paintings of regal looking Americans of noble birth from the 18th and 19th centuries. It’s alright, but I’ve never been that compelled by American art.
I head to the Sackler Gallery, which is part of the Asian wing of the museum. I take a look at some of the Japanese art.
Now this stuff I like. I lived in Japan for two years, once during my junior year of college and then for another year after college.
So I have a real affinity for Japan, and I speak some Japanese. I majored in East Asian Studies at Oberlin College, and that junior year was spent living with a Japanese host family and studying at a Japanese university in Kyoto. I also worked for a Japanese cultural foundation for several years, so you could say I have Japan in my blood.
The thing is, these Japanese scrolls and etchings are just incredible. Artists such as Hokusai played with themes of light and nature, creating portraits that soothe the spirit and move the soul.
I also check out some Chinese art, which I like a lot too. Medieval Japanese art and culture was heavily influenced by China, their much larger neighbor to the West. So Japanese art both resembles, and is distinct from, Chinese art. The two nations have influenced each other so inextricably for so many centuries now that their fates are forever intertwined.
Finally I make my way to the European paintings, which is my favorite part of the museum. I start with Spanish and Italian art. One painting that really catches my eye is Don Andres de Andrade y La Cal. Apparently Don Andres was Spanish royalty, and he was the Marshall of Processions in the Cathedral of Seville. He’s dressed in black, and he’s got his right hand on his trusted mastiff dog. The painting is by Bartolome Esteban Murillo, and it’s from the mid-17th century.
What I can say for sure is that it’s a dope portrait. Everything about it says royalty, nobility, upper class, and power. And why not? I mean in the 17th century, Spain was still on top of the world, having conquered the New World, as well as Parts of Asia, and reigning over the globe as one of the foremost colonial powers. So I’m sure Mr. Don Andres felt good about himself, and his and Spain’s place in the world. I mean why wouldn’t you?
The next painting that really catches my eye is Venus and the Lute Player, by the Italian artist Titian. The painting is of a naked Venus wearing pearls and reclining in a luxurious chair. Cupid is about to place a crown on her head, and there is a lute player at her feet.
It’s an incredible painting, it really is. Venus is pale white, her skin is almost translucent. She’s also rather curvy, or buxom, or even slightly pudgy, you might say. But that was the beauty aesthetic of the era, before 19th century notions of thinness and dieting began to take over. She’s beautiful, make no mistake about it, but she’s not thin. It is possible for the two to coexist, although we seem to have forgotten this in modern times.
I wander around some more, and I soon find myself in the Dutch Impressionist wing. I spot a Van Gogh and make my way over. The painting is encased in glass, set off from the other paintings in the center of the room. It’s a self-portrait by Van Gogh. He’s wearing a blue tunic and a straw hat. He’s bearded, and he has piercing blue eyes.
The Painting is called Self-Portrait With A Straw Hat. It’s from 1887, when Van Gogh was living in Paris. The caption says that he purposely bought a good mirror so that he could produce self-portraits, because he couldn’t afford a model. He produced over twenty self-portraits during his time in Paris.
Needless to say, the painting is absolutely incredible. Each thin brush stroke left an impression, and they all combined together to produce a simply breathtaking portrait. Van Gogh’s expression is serious, determined, yet not unhappy. He seems like a man with a purpose in life, which is surely a good thing.
It’s starting to get late night, and they’ve just announced that the galleries will be closing in fifteen minutes. I check my watch and it is, indeed, 8:45 pm. It’s amazing how nearly two hours can fly by when you’re just mesmerized by the beauty and art in front of you.
I start to make my way out of the Impressionist galleries and towards the exit, but then one more painting catches my eye. It’s by Auguste Renoir, the French painter, and it’s entitled The Daughters of Catulle Mendes, Huguette (1871-1964), Claudine (1876-1937), and Hellyone (1879-1955). It was painted in 1888.
Man oh man, is this painting captivating. It depicts an young teenage girl sitting at an upright piano, with a slightly younger sister holding a violin and standing next to her, and an even younger third sister lounging against the piano. All three girls are beautiful, with translucent skin, dark blue eyes and golden brown hair.
I don’t know, there’s just something about this painting that captivates me. It’s like the girls are nymphs, or angels, or beautiful ghosts from the great beyond. They just seem so angelic. So I’m pretty rocked, and I stare at this painting for a good minute.
The Met makes another announcement that the galleries will be closing in ten minutes now, so I make my way toward the exit. I use the bathroom on the way out, and I wash my face and neck at the mirror. Somehow the intensity of the artwork made me sweat a little, so I want to wash it off and be fresh. Art really is powerful stuff, that’s for sure.
I exit the museum around 8:55 pm, and I sit on the top level of the steps to rest for a minute and gather my thoughts. What a great experience, I think to myself. I love art, and I love The Met. I make a mental note to come to the Met more in the evenings on Friday and Saturday.
I pull out my phone and see I have several text messages, but just as I’m about to check them the phone dies. Yikes! I have a moment of panic, as in, how will I get home? What will I do?
I had been planning to maybe take a Lyft back to Queens, because it’s getting late and who wants to bother with the subway? But then I think hey, suck it up, you’ll be home in forty five minutes if you take the bus and the train, and you’ll save a lot of money too.
I buy a pretzel with mustard and a diet Pepsi from a street vendor outside the museum, just to stave off hunger until I can eat a proper dinner. I catch a bus on 5th Avenue headed South, get off at 59th Street, enter the subway there, and right away a W train pulls in headed towards Queens. Cool! The interesting thing is, for the entire bus and subway ride, I have no working phone, so I’m forced to just be alone with my thoughts, or else to observe people.
It turns out to be pretty cool, though. I just relax and let the bus and subway take me home, and I don’t worry about listening to Spotify, or checking the New York Times, or checking my website. I just relax, and be.
About forty minutes later the W train pulls into the Astoria Boulevard Station. I stop at Key Food and get a few items on my way home, and fifteen minutes later I enter my apartment. Copper, my adopted awesome beautiful cat, is walking around the living room, and I say hey Copper, hey beautiful, I’m home, I’m home, how are you?
She looks at me with love, and then she keeps on walking around the living room. I figure I’ll pet her later, once I’ve unpacked the groceries and chilled out a little. I place the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, and then I head to my bedroom.
I lay on the bed and just chill for a few minutes, and I reflect on the evening. I’m so happy that I went to the Met, because it turned out to be a great time. The art is incredible, and the ambience can’t be beat. I tell myself to go back again soon, but in the evening again. That’s when the magic happens.
Then I make my way into the kitchen, unpack and put away the groceries, and start thinking about dinner.
All in all, it was a great evening, and a good start to the weekend.
I tell myself to keep planning trips, and keep doing things, even if it’s by myself, because that’s the road to a happier life. Activity over indolence. Art over TV and takeout.
It’s easier said than done, but I plan to keep trying until I get it right.
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