The Art Museum

 

I went to an art museum alone. I remember thinking about how strange it was that I was there by myself.

Not because there was anything wrong with being alone. There wasn't. I actually liked it.

I could walk at my own pace. Stop in front of whatever painting caught my attention. Move on whenever I wanted. Nobody was waiting for me. Nobody was asking, "Are you done?"

And yet, somewhere between one gallery and another, I started imagining what it would be like if someone were there with me. Not necessarily someone specific. Just someone.

Someone standing beside me. Someone looking at the same painting. Someone asking what I thought. Someone I could turn toward and say, "Look at this."

It's strange how solitude can make you appreciate your own company while simultaneously reminding you that you sometimes want someone else's. Both things can be true. I can enjoy being alone. And still wish I had someone beside me.

I think people sometimes treat those things as opposites. You're either independent or lonely. You either enjoy solitude or want companionship.

But maybe we're more complicated than that. Maybe sometimes I go somewhere alone because I genuinely want to. And sometimes I wish I weren't alone once I'm already there.

Maybe being alone isn't the same as wanting to be lonely.

I think that's what I learned at the museum. I wasn't sad that I went alone. I was simply aware of the empty space beside me. And sometimes awareness is enough to make you wonder who you would have wanted to fill it.

— ◇ —

A Note on the Painting
Waiting Shed
Annie Cabugting, 2015

What I saw in it: a person looking at something beautiful while we can only wonder what is happening inside her.

https://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/Kuntsmuseum/DEF7B8002D0217B4