Waterlilies

A rainy, bleak Sunday, ideal for roaming a museum, yet I hesitated, knowing I'd encounter throngs of umbrella toting tourists.  But how could I go to NY, and not go to the Met or the Modern?  Under a steady rain I waited on line on 53rd Street, and once inside I waited on two more.  A half hour passed and finally, I was looking at art.  I eased into the crowded flow, making my way to the fifth floor where works from the permanent collection covered the white walls.  Gauguin, Picasso, Mondrian, Matisse -- awe inspiring classics.  The last gallery in the corner took my breath away, and not just because of the stunning 40 foot triptych of Monet's waterlilies.  I tripped into a long ago experience, and an accumulation of memories planted a lifetime ago.

In high school, a poster of Monet's famed bridge and flowers at his home in Giverny hung in my English classroom.  I'm uncertain if this was my first exposure to the artist, but it was definitely the most memorable.  The pastel image, printed on poster board, became as familiar to me as my face in the bathroom mirror.  On days filled with hormones or essays, it was a calming presence.   Not willing to part with the image, my freshman dorm room was adorned with a similar poster protected under a plexiglas frame.  When I first moved to NY and discovered my office was several blocks away from several original works, I'd sneak away to MOMA at lunch and sit in the front of the tranquil canvases.  Years later, on my second trip to Paris, I made the pilgrimage to Monet's gardens.  It was surreal to walk over the bridge he painted, and gaze at waterlilies in the pond, images I have felt deeply connected to my entire life.