A Mission-Driven Gallery Walk

Y’all. Seriously.

I had a moment today.

We went to The National Gallery in London so I could check in on Michelangelo, DaVinci, Raphael and the other ninja turtles, plus so I could add to my mental collection of Van Gogh’s thick oily brush strokes. But it was Renoir who stopped me in my “only got an hour to be here” tracks and filled my eyes with tears.

My voice caught in a whisper. “I know these women,” I told my fella while I stopped, stood and stared.

And I did.

I do.

I’ve been hanging out with them since I was 21 years young working in Chicago and visiting them at the Art Institute every Tuesday on my day off. I’ve spent time with them in Dallas and Paris and NYC, the delight of familiar faces when wondering tourist tracks took me into world class houses of art.

But here, on my mission to see the painters of the Sistine Chapel and various Starry Nights, I’d forgotten my love affair with Renoir from seasons passed, and it was these faces, his umbrellas, his rainy day that stopped me in my mission-driven museum-viewing today.

Recognizing the connection, the admiration, the transcending time and space moment, the beautiful senior security guard left her post, came over to me, leaned in and said, “It’s truly special, isn’t it?”

In that moment humanity connected and race and nationality and generation and all the things that can sometimes divide evaporated as we two stood soaking in genius formed in tiny little strokes.

Sure, I valued and enjoyed and will treasure seeing unfinished works by the man who sculpted David, La Pieta, and painted the Pope’s personal chapel. They remind me of my own great intentions that sometimes lose luster or never come to completion.

And, I respect the thick, broad, wind-filled brush strokes that fill Museum gift shops and simultaneously personify a man’s struggle while he languished in an asylum convinced he’d never matter. They reminded me that so often there’s brilliance and potential we just have to believe so we can see.

But it was these women, their umbrellas, and a rainy day in London that transported me beyond time and space to the beauty of the moment, connected me to humanity, and invited me to stop, pause, and relish the moment. And that is a wonderful thing.

Leaving that place, that space, I absorbed a quiet peacefulness and joy. Because, folks, sometimes the mission IS the moment. Thankful for the treasure I’d just been granted, the human connection with the security guard, the fella who fosters my love for art while he doesn’t personally love Impressionism… when he asked, “Do you want to see more?” I replied,

“I am content. I am happy.”

And I am.

And with that we left to carry on with our day and meet a friend for lunch. Mission accomplished.