SO MANY PAINTINGS

SO MANY PAINTINGS

Psst!

* *

There were times, many times I wished I had the opportunity and financial ability to go to college and study art. Not to draw. No! I’m lucky I can mix red and blue and come up with purple. I’m lucky I can draw two parallel lines and have them look somewhat equal. What I would have loved to have studied were the artists and their creations. What were their inspirations? Where did they get their ideas? What made them choose one idea over another?

Let’s use the Mona Lisa as an example. Why did DaVinci have her positioned almost facing to her right instead of her left? Why did she turn her head to her left, rather than look straight ahead? Why did he paint that particular background? Why did he not encourage her to smile a bit more?

With Manet’s Madame Manet, he could have had her sitting back in the chair, enjoying the sunny day rather than sitting upright with her back rigid. Why? My first thought is, Ouch! My aching back!

Having those questions is what made my over-active imagination run wild.

I felt I was in heaven when I sought and obtained a part time position in a local art museum. It’s true that I didn’t need the extra paycheck but the temptation to work in an art museum was too great a pull.

It wasn’t the best job. The pay was mediocre at best and I’d be working the hours after the museum was closed for the night, just walking around making sure everyone was gone and nothing was out of place. The museum was more like a large art gallery, but to me, it was perfect.

The final visitor would leave at 8pm with the cleaning crew arriving around 8:30pm. As they would leave about midnight, that’s when I would walk through the back door and begin my shift as watchman (watch-lady?) with my shift ending at four in the morning. I lived around the corner. so I still had plenty of time to get home, take a two hour nap, then take a shower and get to my day job.

As I said, my job was to make sure nothing was out of place or perhaps broken or torn in any way. Everything had to be clean. The cleaners were always careful when dusting the paintings and their surrounding frames.

Honestly, there wasn’t much for me to do but that didn’t matter. I could stroll through the museum and peruse every painting and fantasize about the artists who created them. And do it completely undisturbed. My job was ideal.

Then it happened.

It was the beginning of my second week and as usual, I meandered up and down each aisle, mesmerized by the paintings and how the artists mixed and matched the colors they used to create their masterpieces.

I heard what I thought was the faintest, yet clearly audible whisper. “She’s new. Look at her face. Her eyes seem to absorb every brush stroke.”

Whoa! I stopped suddenly, afraid to move. Someone was in the gallery! Not good! I had two options: 1 – call the police, 2 – investigate on my own.

Being new on the job, I didn’t want to cause a scene with the police, but then, I hesitated to begin walking further through the building. The museum was supposed to be empty, well, except for me, but now I wondered if it truly was.

I stood as still and silently as I could, holding my breath afraid it might be heard by .. by whom I didn’t know. Carefully, I turned my head to my right, then my left. There was not one sound. Nothing!

I thought, Did I imagine what I thought was a whisper? Was my imagination taking over because I knew I was supposed to be alone? Very good possibility, after all, wasn’t I just fantasizing about the painters and how they created their breathtaking masterpieces?

Shaking my head and quietly laughing at myself, I began making my way, as quietly as possible (just in case) to the next aisle.

Although the gallery was closed, I was thrilled that the small art lights positioned to illuminate the paintings were still lit. It was the first time I’d seen many of these pieces of art in person and from what I understood when I was hired, the art was alternately and periodically swapped with other museums thus giving art patrons and enthusiasts the opportunity for return visits.

Since I didn’t know when the swap would be made or with which gallery, I wanted to see as much as possible and as often.

I began strolling down the nature section and could swear I heard the sound of the surf as it raced to the shore. It was probably some special effect provided by the museum but in addition to the sound of crashing waves, there was no doubt I smelled the pure, salty, tantalizing scent of the ocean as the sea birds circled overhead looking for their next meal.

Yes, I loved my job. Interactivity with imagination, all rolled into one glorious evening spent with magnificent paintings. And let’s not forget that I got paid for this. Who could ask for more?

As I made my way back to the portrait section, I heard a distinctive, “Sh! Sh!” as if someone were telling another someone to be quiet.

I stopped again, but this time, my courage overtook my common sense. I’d never been afraid of anything and knowing the museum doors were locked and the alarm engaged, only encouraged me.

I spoke loudly, “Whoever you are, you’d better show yourselves or I will, without hesitation call the police.”

A matronly-sounding voice said, “Now you’ve done it! How many times have I told you to keep your voices down?”

The male voice spoke, “You’ve gone from frightening her to making her angry. So sorry, Miss, forgive us, please?”

I turned several times so quickly, I thought I might make myself dizzy. Yet, I saw no one! Not one person.

Another female voice spoke, but she sounded younger. “Yes, we are so truly sorry we frightened you, but you see ...”

Again, I spun around quickly to see where the voice was coming from but again, no one was there - except ..

Holy crap! I thought. No, it couldn’t be. I must be losing my mind!”

The soft-spoken woman continued, “... we get so lonely here. No one speaks to us. Well, you’ve spoken to us, but at night after everyone leaves, we, well, we just speak to each other to pass the time.”

The man spoke again, “Miss, I hope you’ll be our friend. We don’t have many. In fact, we only have each other and we don’t even know for how long.”

The young woman spoke again, “Let me introduce myself. My name is Lucinda, but my painting is called, ‘The Girl With The Pearl Earring’.”

Another female spoke now for the first time. She gently laughed as she said, “My name is Mona and for that one over there? Well, we all just call her Pearl since she’s the one with the earring.”

So went the rest of my night. It had gone from frightening to bewilderment to awesome in the span of four hours.

I had come to the conclusion that I had not lost my mind but either my imagination had run amok, which it did on occasion, or maybe, just maybe these paintings had truly come to life – just for me.