All these paintings and pottery and sculptures are having their intended effect on my emotions.
I feel incredibly young and very small.
They are all staring at me as I shuffle through, averting my eyes, landing them on the objects in the cases for just the briefest of moments. Our roles have been switched and I am now the one being judged.
"What have you done with you life?" they ask me. "What, written a few girlie poems and short stories? Maybe written a clever paper that you were particularly proud of?"
"These are photographs of lovers and soul mates. Lovingly depicted at the height of torrid love affairs and marriages spanning decades."
I come to these museums with other people boyfriends and girlfriends or all alone.
I search desperately for the impressionist wing. Looking for something lovely and familiar to ground me. But I refuse to ask for directions because I wont admit that maybe I don't belong here. I like to play the role of the educated young woman strolling along with confidence as she thinks her important thoughts.
Instead I am stranded in Asia.
Not even Ancient Egypt or Greece, which are much more to my liking.
So I sit and dig around in my purse for my pen.
I write words, because that is my own form of art,
I ignore the creations around me as they look on and squint to better pass judgement on me.
I let them surround me and make my own form of art.
Because if you cant beat em, join em.
