finding inspiration from literature: nabokov’s & philadelphia’s lolita

“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.”

– Jim Jarmusch

the streets of Philadelphia at night
the streets of Philadelphia at night

On December 20, I started reading the classic novel by Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita.  I wrote this review of it on Goodreads:

It’s easy to despise the deeply flawed pedophile Humbert Humbert, with his long-time sexual abuse of his 12-year-old nymphet/daughter Dolores Haze (his Lolita, his Lo). I have put off reading the book forever because of the subject matter, which is certainly hard to take.

That being said, it’s hard not to fall in love with Nabokov’s prose. I listened to the audiobook, narrated by Jeremy Irons, and found some scenes to be so perfectly rendered, so engrossing, that I had to check the book out of the library so I could read and study the passages. Nabokov’s prose is so detailed, so observant, so meticulous, so perfect, so nuanced! If only I had such command of the English language. And to think that Nabokov was born in St. Petersburg in 1899 and English wasn’t even his first language, having moved to the U.S. in 1940. I highly recommend this book just to experience the author’s writing style and wonderful use of language.

Philadelphia nights
Philadelphia nights

I was engrossed in the book at the time we went to Philadelphia, admittedly bowled over by the author’s writing style.  So it was a strange coincidence when we went out to look for a dinner restaurant near our hotel, The Independent, and we happened upon the enticing Lolita tucked into a narrow space on South 13th Street.

Philadelphia Muses by Meg Saligman, 13th and Locust Streets, Center City
Philadelphia Muses by Meg Saligman, 13th and Locust Streets, Center City

We sat down at the bar because it was crowded; no matter, we enjoy sitting at the bar anyway.  I found an appealing new drink on the menu: a jalapeno and cucumber margarita, which was ultra-refreshing and not too sweet.  As I sipped this marvelous concoction, I mentioned to one of the bartenders, a young woman, that it was serendipitous that we found Lolita because I’m right in the middle of listening to the audiobook.

jalapeno and cucumber margarita at Lolita
jalapeno and cucumber margarita at Lolita

She gushed that she adored Nabokov: “His prose is amazing!  There is nothing like it!”  Her enthusiasm matched my feelings, and I felt an instant kinship with her. This is what reading will do to a person.

Lolita in Philadelphia
Lolita in Philadelphia

We enjoyed Lolita’s ambiance, as well as our fabulous dinners: chipotle shrimp enchiladas verdes (charred tomatillos, serranos, garlic & cilantro) stuffed with roasted sunchokes, sauteed local greens, queso mixto & radish salad for me, and queso fundido (charred corn puree, queso mixto, local mushroom mix, roasted baby corn & poblanos, served with warm corn tortillas – served with house-made chorizo for Mike.

chipotle shrimp enchiladas verdes (charred tomatillos, serranos, garlic & cilantro) stuffed with roasted sunchokes, sauteed local greens, queso mixto & radish salad

Inspiration is found in unlikely places.  All one has to do it be open to it, recognize it, and run with it.  After reading Lolita,  I can only dream of writing like Nabokov. I know I don’t have that talent, but if I could remotely approach him, I would be happy.  I’ve been thrilled by writers before, and I’ve yearned to have such natural and spontaneous creativity.  In writing classes, teachers often encourage students to find admired masters and try to mimic their style.  Of course, a writer is also supposed to find his or her own “voice” when writing.  But my voice seems so boring!

When I read something like Lolita that makes my heart beat faster, that takes my breath away, then I want to study it, dissect it, analyze it, and try to take something away from it.  If I could write even one sentence like that, just one….it might be possible to write another, and yet another.

In the book, at the beginning of part two, Humbert Humbert and Lolita take a road trip across the country.  I’ve taken many American road trips in my life, and Nabokov captures a small part of their journey perfectly in this passage:

Now and then, in the vastness of those plains, huge trees would advance toward us to cluster self-consciously by the roadside, and provide a bit of humanitarian shade above a picnic table, with sun flecks, flattened paper cups, samaras and discarded ice-cream sticks littering the brown ground. A great user of roadside facilities, my unfastidious Lo would be charmed by toilet signs — Guys-Gals, John-Jane, Jack-Jill and even Buck’s-Doe’s; while lost in an artist’s dream, I would stare at the honest brightness of the gasoline paraphernalia against the splendid green of oaks, or at a distant hill scrambling out — scarred but still untamed — from the wilderness of agriculture that was trying to swallow it. (p. 153, 50th anniversary edition, Lolita, June 1997)

This scene is wonderfully rendered.  The picture of “huge trees” advancing toward the moving car, clustering “self-consciously by the roadside,” and providing “a bit of humanitarian shade” is not only great description but it prompts in the reader a leap of imagination.  It endows the trees with human qualities — self-consciousness and humanitarianism — and prods us to see them with vague and tender recognition. We might not have described them that way ourselves, but we feel the rightness of the description.  The “sun flecks” suggest a summer afternoon, indolent and barely breezy, the setting for a romantic rendezvous that has now ended, with remnants of confetti scattered as reminders.  Samaras seem exotic; when I look them up, I find they are a type of fruit with a flattened wing of papery tissue developing from the ovary wall.  The discarded ice-cream sticks conjure up children, and yes, Lolita is a child, a nymphet, that thing Humbert longs for, that thing he can’t resist.  Here, like the child Lolita is the object of Humbert’s desires, the flower and the ice-cream sticks are both exotic and sexual; together, they hint at  the protagonist’s pedophilia, of which we are all too aware from our reading.  Humbert even finds Lo’s unfastidiousness attractive; we already know this from what we’ve read before. Nabokov doesn’t waste any opportunity to infuse his writing with reminders of Humbert’s obsession.

I love the different names on the toilet signs, a fantastic detail which captures the nuances in the monotony that one sees on a road trip. We all know the frequent stops we have to make on a road trip, especially as a child, “How much further, Dad?  I need to go to the bathroom!”  I can just picture the gleaming “gasoline paraphernalia” of the 1950s (Lolita was published in 1955), painstakingly polished by gas station attendants who cared lovingly for their roadside facilities. And I love how the distant hill “scrambles out — scarred but still untamed” much like his own Lolita.  She is certainly scarred, but he’s never really able to tame her.

Philadelphia’s Lolita –  the day after

How can we write fabulous prose?  It seems to me some people have a natural ability to do so; others of us have to struggle mightily to come up with one good sentence.  Just looking at Nabokov’s prose, here’s what I take away:

  • Be observant when you’re out in the world.  Notice every little detail.    This one is hardest for me, as I seem to wander around with blinders on half the time.
  • Carry a notebook or a camera so you’re always ready to capture what you see or feel, what you smell or hear, what you taste.  Take time-outs with your notebook at a cafe to write notes.
  • Note anything unique and unusual; anything that is out of place.  The flattened paper cups, the discarded ice-cream sticks.  Things that seem unimportant yet create such perfect details in a story.
  • Note things that are mundane: the picnic tables, the roadside facilities, the gasoline paraphernalia, the names on the toilets.  These are things that everyone sees and expects to see, and often go unnoticed.
  • Describe the things you see using human qualities – “cluster self-consciously” or “provide a bit of humanitarian shade.”
  • If you have trouble with this, note what you see and then brainstorm words that might describe human emotions or states.  Experiment with word pairings.  I love when a word is paired with another word in a surprising way.
  • Find active verbs to describe static things: “a distant hill scrambling out.”
  • Make something mundane seem interesting: as in the frequent stops at the roadside facilities and the bathroom names.

So, what could I come up with in my attempt to write a Nabokov-like paragraph about a road trip?


As we drive north on that white-lined freeway fenced in by concrete barriers, the Toyota RAV’s rubber wipers swish the drizzle to and fro on the windshield, a squeaky metronome.  Sedans and SUVs from Maryland, Virginia, The Garden State — even the Sunshine State with its green-leafed oranges — press in as they whizz past, their tires flinging dirt-infused mist on our windshield.  A Warehouse for Lease! slumps on the fringes, punctuated by green highway signs with white letters announcing exits like Bel Air and Emmorton Road.  Black spiny trees blur along the roadside approaching Exit 80, where blue signs announce Food: McDonald’s, Burger King, Subway, Wendy’s, Dunkin’ Donuts.  U2 sings “Mysterious Ways” and highway vagabond Miranda Lambert wants to “go somewhere where nobody knows.”  I’ve snagged my left thumbnail and as usual, I don’t have any nail clippers in my purse.  The annoying snag persists. A brown sign announces we’re passing Susquehanna State Park and another forbids U-turns and when we cross the bridge, a ghost brigade of mist rises off the Susquehanna. Barns, silos, and bristly sepia fields scroll past and an aqua “Town of Perryville” water tower mutters a greeting.  On the stretch of industrial corridor near Port of Wilm, metal utility towers spread their triple-triangle arms and factories belch smoke, gasping their last breath.  Blue-green porta-potties stand in formation along the tracks and containers lie like coffins on idle trains.  The derelict train station’s windows are broken.  Citywide Limousine squats beside a lot of Ryder trucks and an empty pedestrian bridge covered in chain-link looms over us as we sputter underneath.

Finally, “Pennsylvania, State of Independence,” welcomes us while Hidden Figures of NASA stand in all their mathematical genius on an electronic billboard.  Run-down brick row houses hug the highway behind a thin veil of chain-links.  CSX rail cars hunker along the highway, dead in their tracks.  Another billboard promises “The Wounded Warrior Project helps me heal the wounds you can’t see.”  At Philadelphia Energy Solutions, giant cylindrical tanks with blue bands around the tops squat on the land and, next door, bundled paper haphazardly occupies a recycling plant. A pink “Risqué Video” sign entices those so-inclined.   We skid into the Philly outskirts, land of the free and home of the tired.


I’d like to challenge my readers to write a paragraph describing something or someplace and share it as a link in my comments.

visiting museums: in search of inspiration at the barnes foundation

Sometimes you need to take a departure from what you do to something that’s slightly different in order to get inspiration. ~ Tori Amos

I love to find inspiration in unlikely places. On our trip to Philadelphia, I was inspired by art, architecture, photography, observation, and even by an encounter in a restaurant.  I’m always seeking an answer to the question: How do I live my life more creatively? How do I travel mindfully and create art?  Whether it’s photography, a short story, a poem, a novel, a blog post, or an essay — even a cocktail hour — how can I make my daily life more fulfilling and give something of myself to the world?  How can I express myself and be utterly true to who I am?  These are questions I grapple with, and my blog(s) and other creative outlets are the way I express myself and hope to connect with others.

on the way to the Barnes Foundation
on the way to the Barnes Foundation

Since we were on a roll through the museums of Philadelphia, we made a beeline at 4:30 p.m. for the Barnes Foundation, practically next door to the Rodin Museum on Benjamin Franklin Parkway.  Even though we were burnt out on museums by this late afternoon, we decided that if the museum was open for at least one more hour, we’d make a quick visit.

Albert Coombs Barnes (1872-1951), “established the Foundation as an educational institution with the goal of using art as a teaching tool to foster critical thinking and analytical skills.”  The Barnes holds one of the finest collections of impressionist, post-impressionist, and early modern paintings, with extensive works by Renoir, Cezanne, Matisse, Picasso and many others.

The Barnes Foundation
The Barnes Foundation

The walls of the museum are unconventionally displayed, with art arranged as composition or “ensemble.”  Each wall in the permanent collection mixes art and craft across cultures and periods.  Barnes experimented with arrangement according to light, line, color, and space, rather than chronology, nationality, style or genre. Walking through the permanent collection at the Barnes Foundation is a very different experience than one at other museums because of the unusual and creative displays.

The Barnes Foundation
The Barnes Foundation

When we found the museum was open until 6:00 because it was a Friday, we paid the admission and went in.  We headed directly for the special exhibition, Live and Life Will Give You Pictures: Masterworks of French Photography, 1890-1950, in the Roberts Gallery; the exhibition was to end on January 9.  We would do a quick walk through the permanent collection if we had time and energy, as we had heard amazing things about it.

Though we were allowed to take pictures of the special exhibition, we weren’t allowed to do so in the permanent collection.  So if you want to see the magnificent paintings and art so creatively arranged in this place, you’ll have to visit here yourselves. 🙂

View from the Barnes looking down Benjamin Franklin Parkway
View from the Barnes looking down Benjamin Franklin Parkway

You don’t make a photograph just with a camera. You bring to the act of photography all the pictures you have seen, the books you have read, the music you have heard, the people you have loved. ~ Ansel Adams

From the late 19th century to the early 20th, photographers and painters traded aesthetic ideas and were interested in many of the same features of contemporary experience.  These photographers focused on Paris, which was radically transformed in this period of rapid industrialization, urbanization, and class stratification. As with the other visual arts, progressive photography tried to innovatively represent these developments in the modern-day cities.

This exhibition was titled after a remark by Henri Cartier-Bresson and displayed vintage prints of nearly 200 classic images made between 1890 and 1950 by French photographers and photographers working extensively in France. The salon-style hang was organized thematically.

I found the thematic arrangement of photos at this exhibition to be inspirational and thought-provoking; similarly, I am inspired by the thematic arrangements of photos on blogs resulting from WordPress and other bloggers’ photo challenges; one blog I especially love to visit for inspiration in this regard is Steve McCurry’s blog. Generally, when I write my blog, I arrange my photos in a logistical day-by-day accounting of a journey, or a place. I feel like I’d like to get out of the rut of doing this and to focus on thematic photographic storytelling.  It would be more time-consuming and challenging, but I think it would be more rewarding.


Paris’s population quadrupled during the 19th century, and the bustling crowds became a signature motif for the impressionist painters, such as Monet’s 1873 Boulevard des Capucines. Decades later, photographers explored the possibilities of the ever-shifting crowd.  Others honed in on the crowds, picking out the new spectrum of characters — from the homeless to sex workers, to laborers, shop and factory workers, businessmen and aristocrats (from a sign at the museum).

Greta Garbo, Paris (1932) by Ilse Bing
Greta Garbo, Paris (1932) by Ilse Bing
Facade, rue de l
Facade, rue de l”hotel de Ville, Paris (c. 1936) by Brassai
crowds in Paris
crowds in Paris
Hyeres, France (1932) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Hyeres, France (1932) – Henri Cartier-Bresson
Men Reading Yiddish Theater Posters, Paris (1932) - Ilse Bing
Men Reading Yiddish Theater Posters, Paris (1932) – Ilse Bing

Here are a few photos of mine on the theme of STREET LIFE:

Rishikesh, India
Rishikesh, India
Street life in Cascais, Portugal
Street life in Cascais, Portugal


Manufacturing and the demands of a new middle class led to an increase in commodity culture in 19th-century Paris.  The world’s first department store, Le Bon Marche, opened there in 1852, and photography became enamored of commerce, reflected in images of shops, store windows, advertising, and bodies available for purchase on streets and in brothels.

Eugene Atget became intrigued by consumerism — shop windows, the artful presentation of goods, mannequins as uncanny substitutes for the human form — shown in this image of a corset shop on a fashionable boulevard.  Corsets were 19th century fashion necessities.  Their arrangement in rows emphasizes their regularizing effect on the female body, according to a sign in the museum.

Boulevarad de Strasbourg, Paris (1912) Eugene Atget
Boulevarad de Strasbourg, Paris (1912) Eugene Atget

Here are some photos of COMMERCE from Richmond, Virginia and Santorini, Greece.

vintage shop in Carytown, Richmond, VA
vintage shop in Carytown, Richmond, VA
Shop window in Carytown, Richmond
Shop window in Carytown, Richmond


The new forms of industry visible in and around cities became important motifs for photographers in the latter part of the 19th century and at the same time prompted a nostalgia for pre-industrial times and the communal values associated with non-mechanized labor.


The middle class grew hungry for entertainment, so cafes and bars began to dominate the urban landscape, as did dance halls and theaters, street entertainers and sporting events. On weekends, trains carried the new leisured classes to suburban retreats.

French gambler, promenade des Anglais, Nice (1934) by Lisette Model
French gambler, promenade des Anglais, Nice (1934) by Lisette Model

Two working class couples picnic on the banks of the Marne River outside Paris.  Their social status is significant: the photograph was snapped in the year that French workers were first awarded a paid annual vacation.  Cartier-Bresson shoots the group from behind, capturing one figure refilling his glass.

Sunday on the Banks of the Marne (1938) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Sunday on the Banks of the Marne (1938) – Henri Cartier-Bresson
Fortune-Teller's Booth, Street Fair, Paris (1933) - Ilse Bing
Fortune-Teller’s Booth, Street Fair, Paris (1933) – Ilse Bing

Here’s a photo capturing LEISURE in Cascais, Portugal.

a leisurely tourist in Cascais, Portugal
a leisurely tourist in Cascais, Portugal


Henri Cartier-Bresson took his first photographs in 1931, but it was when he bought a Leica in 1932 that he began to capture pictures on the fly, capturing what he called “the decisive moment:” “To me, photography is the simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, the significance of an event as well as of a precise organization of forms which give that event its proper expression.”

In 1947, Cartier-Bresson co-founded Magnum Photos, the first international cooperative agency for photojournalists.  Under its auspices, he documented international events.  He was perhaps best known in the later 1940s and 1950s for his coverage of Asia.

Budapest (1932) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Budapest (1932) – Henri Cartier-Bresson
Srinagar, Kashmir (1946) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Srinagar, Kashmir (1946) – Henri Cartier-Bresson

In 1948 and 1949, Cartier-Bresson photographed extensively in China, just as the Communists were wresting control of the country from its exiled last emperor, Puyi (1906-1967).  Cartier-Bresson’s photos introduced Western audiences to a mysterious place and culture, and, at the same time to evidence of its transformation.  Here, a court servant, castrated in order to focus his loyalties on the imperial dynasty, grins awkwardly at the photographer.

A Eunuch of the Imperial Court of the Last Dynasty, Peking (1949) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
A Eunuch of the Imperial Court of the Last Dynasty, Peking (1949) – Henri Cartier-Bresson
Rice Fields in the Minangkabau Country, Sumatra, Indonesia (1950) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Rice Fields in the Minangkabau Country, Sumatra, Indonesia (1950) – Henri Cartier-Bresson

Based on the theme of REPORTAGE, and the photos exhibited here, below are a few photos showing cultures in far-flung lands.  I hope to find more time to create thematic blog posts in the future, because I find them fascinating. 🙂


Some early photographers aspired to make images that would be embraced as fine art.  Resisting photography’s documentary competencies, they selected subjects associated with painting — biblical, mythological and historical narratives; landscapes, portraiture, and still life — and manipulated their pictures to approximate the look of painting and drawing.

Henri Matisse at HIs Home, Villa Le Reve, Vence, France (1944) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Henri Matisse at HIs Home, Villa Le Reve, Vence, France (1944) – Henri Cartier-Bresson
Tivoli, Italy (1933) - Henri Cartier-Bresson
Tivoli, Italy (1933) – Henri Cartier-Bresson

I love being inspired to create stories or themes around photography and I hope I’ll find time to do this in the near future.

If you feel inclined to create a thematic photo collage or blog post around one of these themes, I’d love for you to link your blog to this post!  It would be fun to see what you come up with. 🙂

~ Thursday, December 29, 2016

visiting museums for individual artists | the rodin museum |

“Man’s naked form belongs to no particular moment in history; it is eternal, and can be looked upon with joy by the people of all ages.” ~ Auguste Rodin

When we paid admission to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, we also got free admission to the Rodin Museum, a short walk down Benjamin Franklin Parkway, itself intended to evoke the Avenue des Champs-Élysées in Paris.  The more famous Musée Rodin in Paris opened in 1919.  Its collection includes 6,600 sculptures, 8,000 drawings, 8,000 old photographs and 7,000 objets d’art. The more intimately scaled Rodin Museum in Philadelphia has over 140 bronzes, marbles, and plasters, as well as eight works in the garden outside.

Though I’m not particularly enamored of sculpture as an art form, I figured it wouldn’t hurt me to learn something about this greatly admired artist.  Rodin possessed a unique ability to model a turbulent and deeply complex surface in clay. Many of his most notable sculptures were criticized during his lifetime; his work clashed with thematic and classical sculptural traditions, as well as mythology and allegory.  He modeled the human body with realism, and celebrated individual character and physicality. Although Rodin was sensitive to the controversy surrounding his work, he refused to change his style. Before finally earning fame, he spent several decades as a decorative artist, as he was denied entrance to the École des Beaux-Arts three times (Wikipedia: Auguste Rodin).

Approaching the museum, we meet Rodin’s famous sculpture, The Thinker.

Rodin Museum
Rodin Museum

Rodin originally conceived The Thinker for The Gates of Hell in 1880-81, but in 1889 he exhibited it as an independent sculpture, titled The Thinker; The Poet, Fragment of a Door.

The Thinker
The Thinker

On August 16, 1880, Rodin received a commission to create a pair of bronze doors for a new decorative arts museum in Paris which never materialized. Nevertheless, the sculptor worked on The Gates of Hell for 37 years, during which time he continually added, removed, or altered the more than two hundred human figures that appear on the doors. Some of his most famous works, like The Thinker, The Three Shades, and The Kiss, were originally conceived as part of The Gates and were only later removed, enlarged, and cast as independent pieces.

The Gates of Hell
The Gates of Hell

Rodin’s initial inspiration came from Inferno, the first part of Dante’s epic poem The Divine Comedy. Rodin imagined the scenes described by Dante as a world with infinite space and freedom from gravity. This allowed for radical experimentation by the artist, with figures that obey no rules in their poses, emotive gestures, or sexuality. According to the Rodin Museum‘s website, for Rodin, the chaotic figures on The Gates of Hell enjoyed only one final freedom—the ability to express their agony with complete abandon.

Details - The Gates of Hell
Details – The Gates of Hell

Inside the museum, we find a despairing marble figure modeled on Greek mythology, Danaid (The Source), condemned to eternally carry water from a leaking jug.  The figure was originally modeled for The Gates of Hell, but Rodin didn’t include it in the final version.

Danaid (The Source)
Danaid (The Source)

The Martyr, modeled in 1885, depicts a naked dead or sleeping female figure in blackened bronze.

The Martyr
The Martyr

The founder of the Rodin Museum wanted a large marble as the centerpiece of the collection and asked the Musée Rodin in Paris for permission to have a copy made of the artist’s famous embracing couple.  Carved after Rodin’s death, this replica of The Kiss is marked as such on the back.

Copy of Rodin's
Copy of Rodin’s “The Kiss” – carved in marble 1929 by Henri Greber (French, 1855-1941)
Details - Copy of
Details – Copy of “The Kiss”

The Thinker was subsequently cast in bronze in three different sizes, including this one inside the museum, of the original, or medium, size.  Despite the fame of this piece, the individual who modeled for it is unknown making him an “everyman.”

The Thinker
The Thinker

Samuel Stockton White III (American, 1876-1952) was the only Philadelphian to model for Rodin.  The award-winning bodybuilder was introduced to the artist in 1901 as a possible subject.  White assumed this position, which recalls The Thinker.

The Athlete
The Athlete

Adele Abbnruzzesi, a young Italian woman who was one of Rodin’s favorite models, assumed this provocative pose in The Crouching Woman while resting between modeling sessions.  Rodin nicknamed this figure “the frog” and used it on The Gates of Hell and in I Am Beautiful.

The Crouching Woman
The Crouching Woman

The Crouching Woman holds a special place in my heart.  Some years ago, while I was taking poetry classes at Northern Virginia Community College, I went to the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington for a poetry-writing session led by one of the curators at the museum. She encouraged us to use art as inspiration for poetry.  I loved the session as I was learning that you could write poetry about anything in life, no matter how mundane or how grand. As we wandered around the museum, I was captured by a Rodin sculpture, She Who Was The Helmet Maker’s Once-Beautiful Wife (Celle qui fut la belle heaulmière), 1885-1887.  At that time, I was depressed by the toll aging was taking on me, so I focused on this sculpture.  I studied the sculpture with great interest, taking notes for a poem I’d try to write at home.  The Crouching Woman was also at the Hirshhorn, in the same room, and I included her in the poem.  You can find the poem at the end of this post.  I’m not into rhyming poetry, so you’ll be disappointed if you enjoy rhymes.

I love the idea of creating something from my travels, or even my day trips — a short story, a poem, a novel, a blog post, a photograph or series of photos based around a theme.  I love immersing myself in a place and discovering something that moves me and inspires me to be creative.  The experience becomes an interactive one: a place or experience gives something to me, which I take and shape into something meaningful for myself and for the world.

“Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded” ~ Virginia Woolf

We can walk all the way around Saint John the Baptist Preaching.  Says Rodin about the peasant who offered his services as a model and inspired this sculpture: “I immediately thought of a Saint John the Baptist, in other words, a man of nature, a visionary, a believer, a precursor who came to announce one greater than himself. The peasant undressed, climbed onto the revolving stand as if he had never posed before; he planted himself firmly on his feet, head up, torso straight, at the same time putting his weight on both legs, open like a compass.  The movement was so right, so straightforward and so true that I cried: ‘But it’s a man walking!’ I immediately resolved to model what I had seen” (Musee Rodin).

Rodin made a sculpture to honor Honoré de Balzac, the French novelist and playwright. According to Rodin, the sculpture aims to portray the writer’s character rather than a physical likeness.  I’m unable to get a decent photo of the sculpture, which is here in the museum.  However, in the same room, I find a bust of the novelist Jules-Amedee Barbey d’Aurevilly (French, 1808-1889), one of Balzac’s most fervent supporters and an early sponsor of the Balzac monument.  In 1909 Rodin was approached to design a memorial to d’Aurevilly; a version of this bust, showing the author’s fashionable features and dress, sits on a high pedestal in the Norman City of Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte, his birthplace.

Barbey d'Aurevilly
Barbey d’Aurevilly

Eternal Springtime was modeled in clay in 1884; cast in plaster and painted white in 1885.  Rodin originally conceived of Eternal Springtime as part of The Gates of Hell, but he didn’t include it because the happiness expressed by the lovers did not seem appropriate to the theme of The Gates.

Eternal Springtime
Eternal Springtime

The Cathedral is a combination of two right hands, belonging to two different figures. Parallels may be drawn between the mysterious inner space that seems to emanate from the composition and Gothic architecture (Musée Rodin: Cathedral).

We find another sculpture, Two Hands, modeled before 1909 and cast in 1925.

Two Hands
Inside the museum
Inside the museum

Outside, in the garden, we find The Three Shades.  These identical male figures — known as shades, or ghosts from the underworld — are closely related to Rodin’s figure of Adam.  However, rather than awakening to life as Adam does, the shades embody death, sleep and loss of consciousness.  Rodin placed The Three Shades atop The Gates of Hell to draw attention to the scenes of damnation unfolding below, and years later, enlarged and exhibited them as an independent figure group.

The Three Shades
The Three Shades
me with the Three Shades
me with the Three Shades
Farewell to the Rodin Museum
Farewell to the Rodin Museum

Here’s my poem from the my little poetry session at the Hirshhorn.  I’m sorry I don’t have a photo of the sculpture, but you can find it in the link above, from the Boston Museum.

She Who Was the Helmet Maker’s Once-Beautiful Wife

Her skin flows –
          lava, rippling
down her frail neck, rib cage, legs –
then solidifies, bronzed.
          Gravity – hypnotic –
tugs at her deflated breasts. Punctuated
by sunken nipples, invisible aureoles, they lounge
against her ribs, her tired mound of belly.
Her hair hangs in a horseshoe on her back.
Her kneecaps jut in knotted knobs, dark
and pockmarked as peppercorns.

The pitted surfaces of her skin
refract the museum light,
          deflect her despair
to her companions – Crouching Woman,
Head of Sorrow, Kneeling Woman Combing Her Hair.
The Hirshhorn docent points at her,
while students scribble in notebooks,
          raincoats tossed over their arms.
Rodin insists she was once beautiful,
and maybe she was, but today
and until bronze disintegrates,
her essence hides within a craggy oyster shell,
pearly, air-thin bones under loose-fitting skin.

     Inside her hollows, she just remembers
wandering to her husband’s shop
on woolen summer evenings,
moonlight glancing off canary grass,
a whippoorwill’s lament in liquid air.

          Goosebumps blossomed
on her skin as she watched his shoulders
strain in the light from the fire.
She silently slid her fingers over the cool ridge
of a helmet, her own reflection – beguiling –
in the metal-mirror curve.

She loved to seduce him on those ancient evenings,
the helmets – like a crowd
     of   floating,   gleaming   heads – peering   
as she and her husband
          made tangled love
                    on the dusty floor.

visiting museums: prolonging a journey | south asian galleries – philadelphia museum of art |

“Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey.” ~ Pat Conroy

When an invitation to relive or extend a journey offers itself, I will always take it, no matter in what form.  Often, after visiting a foreign country, I will bask in a book set in that locale, extending my experience of that place.  When I come across buildings or gardens with particular architectural styles, those commonly found in exotic locales — European Gothic cathedrals, Chinese dragons or gates, Japanese gardens, Islamic mosques — my heart skips a beat; I ease back in time to my wanderings through those magical places.  Whenever I take urban hikes through cities or natural landscapes, I feel that same sense of adventure I had when immersing myself in an exotic place; I remember the anticipation as I set off to explore China’s Longji Rice Terraces or Nepal’s village to village trails.

I felt a sense of exhilaration, as well as nostalgia and longing, on visiting the new South Asian Galleries at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  I was taken back to a not-so-long-ago time when I lived and traveled extensively in South Asia. I loved meandering through the happy reminders found in this place.

We had already visited the “Paint the Revolution” special exhibition and, rather than exhausting ourselves trying to see the rest of this great and sprawling museum, we picked one part of the permanent collection to visit.  We walked up to the second floor via the Great Stair Hall Balcony and headed for the reopened South Asian Galleries.

an archer at the top of the stairs
an archer at the top of the stairs

We passed through the European Art Gallery from 1100-1500 on our way to the South Asian Galleries.

First we came upon some mosaic tiles from Iran.  As these are Islamic, they reminded me of so many beautiful tiles I found in Oman, UAE, Egypt, and even in southern Spain, originating from the Moorish conquest.  These Tile Mosaic Panels from Iran (Isfahan) are from the Safavid dynasty, 1501-1736.

I visited what seemed like infinite numbers of Buddhist temples in Korea, Japan, China, Myanmar, Vietnam, Singapore, and Thailand, and, to this day, I always feel a sense of peace when I see Buddhist figures anywhere in the world.  Here, we found a gilded bronze White Tara, Buddhist Goddess of Compassion (1700s-1800s) from Inner Mongolia, Autonomous Region (Dolon Nor, Chahar province, China).  The compassionate Buddhist goddess Tara is a bodhisattva (Buddhist savior).  The eyes on her palms and forehead show that she sees and helps all living beings.

White Tara, Buddhist Goddess of Compassion
White Tara, Buddhist Goddess of Compassion

This Chinese cabinet is covered with symbols from ancient China: cranes as symbols of longevity and immortality; two deer, a stag and a doe, symbolic of domestic harmony between husband and wife; pot-shaped vase designs, painted in blue and green, suggestive of endless wealth; and lotuses representing purity.

Chinese cabinet
Chinese cabinet

The man in the detail of one panel is a successful merchant and the bolt of cloth next to him likely refers to his source of wealth.

Successful merchant on Chinese cabinet
Successful merchant on Chinese cabinet

In Tibetan Buddhism and Hinduism, a mandala helps seekers of enlightenment along their spiritual path.  It represents both god’s palace and the entire cosmos in a geometric-circular format.  It may be two-dimensional (a drawing or painting) or three-dimensional (a sculpture or architectural space).

By meditating on a mandala, a person undertakes a mental journey, beginning in the outermost circle – which can hold human patrons, teachers and lesser deities – and progresses inward to become one with the god or divine couple at the mandala’s center (according to a sign at the museum).

This Satchakravarti Samvara Mandala from Tibet is made up of six smaller mandalas.  Each holds a different Buddha in sexual union with his female counterpart.

Mandalas are also found throughout Nepal; I bought a couple in Kathmandu to bring home.  I still need to find a place in my house to hang them.

Tibetan mandala
Tibetan mandala

A thangka is the Tibetan term for a painting made on cloth that can be rolled up for travel or storage and unrolled and hung for use.  Thangkas most often depict Buddhist deities, renowned religious teachers, or a mandala (a god’s cosmic palace).  In Nepal, these types of paintings are often called paubhas.  I bought one of these in Nepal, as a memento of my journey.

I cherish the mementos I have of my Asian travels, and of all my travels.  They preserve and extend my travel experience.  Collecting these items turns my travel into a collective experience of my repeated immersions into different cultures.  Displaying them in my house surrounds me with happy recollections of travel moments and what I gleaned from them – a sense of independence, resilience, adventurousness and camaraderie with fellow travelers. These mementos spark a yearning to return to places I’ve been, to explore them again with fresh eyes and a new depth of appreciation.

Tibetan thangka
Tibetan thangka

In a traditional residence of a Chinese nobleman, a reception hall was the most formal building, where official activities were conducted.  This Reception Hall from the Palace of Duke Zhou, displayed in its entirety here, was originally part of a Beijing palace built in the early 1640s.  The hall has a thirty-foot ceiling and brilliantly painted floral and animal motifs on its beams and brackets that convey auspicious wishes.  This hall is presently furnished with works of art dating between the Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties, the period during which the hall was in use.

It was dark in the room where this reception hall was exhibited, so it was difficult to get a photo of anything but one of the painted roof beams.  Beams such as these in China delighted me every time I encountered them and remembered to turn my eyes to the ceiling.

I love the grand vision of the museum’s Director Fiske Kimball (1888-1955), who envisioned architectural elements providing historical context to objects on display.  This whole reopened South Asian Gallery has architecture displayed in a grand way; I felt as if I were walking through ancient Asian cultures.

Painted bean in Reception Hall from the Palace of Duke Zhou
Painted bean in Reception Hall from the Palace of Duke Zhou

The hall in one large room is constructed as part of the Madana Gopala Swamy temple complex, dedicated to the Hindu god Vishnu and his avatar Krishna. Apparently a woman, Adeline Pepper Gibson, purchased sixty granite carvings she found piled in the temple compound from local authorities in 1912.  Most of the complex still stands in the famous temple-city of Madurai in southern India.

Madana Gopala Swamy temple complex from Madurai in southern India
Madana Gopala Swamy temple complex from Madurai in southern India

A visit to South Asian galleries wouldn’t be complete without something from Japan. Some Japanese tea houses were set up here, but it was hard to get decent pictures in the strong light.

Japanese tea house
Japanese tea house
Japanese tea house
Japanese tea house

Surihaku theatrical robes are used exclusively in Noh drama to symbolize the uncontrolled passions of certain female roles.  This Noh Costume from 1700s Japan is a silk satin weave decorated with patinated metallic leaf applied to a stenciled paste base (surihaku), representing the reptilian skin of the character, who has been transformed into a serpent or demon by the corrosive power of jealousy and hatred.

Noh Costume
Noh Costume

A modern piece from 2008, Kotodama (the soul of language), is embellished with word-filled fragments from antique books and accounting ledgers and layered scraps of red silk from kimono undergarments.  For the artist, Maio Motoko, words had spiritual power.  Here, the assembled fragments create a visual world of words.

Detail - Kotodama
Detail – Kotodama

Finally as we exited the South Asian galleries and made our way back out through the European galleries, we stopped to admire the French Gothic Chapel.  I am always enamored by decorative doors, and these doors I find particularly beautiful.  This one reminds me of doors I found during the two years I lived in Oman.

doors from French Gothic Chapel
doors from French Gothic Chapel
Detail - doors from French Gothic Chapel
Detail – doors from French Gothic Chapel

The chapel was composed of elements from two buildings that were part of a large religious community at Aumonieres near Dijon in central France that was administered by the Knights of Saint Anthony.  This nursing order, founded in the 11th century, established many hospices.

Stained glass window from French Gothic Chapel
Stained glass window from French Gothic Chapel

We finally walked out of the Philadelphia Museum of Art by 3:20, only an hour and a half after we entered.  It was a good visit and not too tiresome, and we were able to enjoy the special exhibition and one part of the permanent collection.  We used a number of suggestions from the compact but interesting book, How to Visit a Museum.  I hope to take to heart more of David Finn’s ideas for exploring museums during these winter months, when it’s too cold and generally miserable to explore outdoors.

View of Benjamin Franklin Parkway from the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art
View of Benjamin Franklin Parkway from the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art
View of Benjamin Franklin Parkway from the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art
View of Benjamin Franklin Parkway from the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art

 ~ Thursday, December 29, 2016

visiting museums: special exhibitions | the philadelphia museum of art: paint the revolution |

Living is like tearing through a museum.  Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering – because you can’t take it in all at once. ~ Audrey Hepburn

Why do we visit museums?  I don’t know about you, but I visit them for a hodgepodge of unrelated reasons.  When I’m at home near Washington, D.C., where so many museums are free, I visit them to pass the time, to have special day outings (topped off with lunch or dinner), to learn about cultures, to explore artists and artistic styles, to have something to do in miserable weather, to expand my appreciation for beauty, or simply to be inspired — either to expand my creativity or to discover new travel destinations.

Philadelphia Museum of Art: Paint the Revolution
Philadelphia Museum of Art: Paint the Revolution

While traveling, I don’t visit museums as often as I ought to, mainly because of time constraints.  I would usually prefer to be outdoors doing urban or nature hiking.  Most often I go if there is a really famous museum or collection to see, such as the Louvre or the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, or the National Archeological Museum in Athens.  Sometimes, such as when we visited the Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico, we went only because it was pouring rain.  In Barcelona, I visited Fundació Joan Miró and Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya-MNAC only because I had nearly four days there and these museums happened to be on the Barcelona Bus Turista route.

To be honest, I’ve always felt overwhelmed by museums.  I’m always exhausted after I’ve visited one, as I’ve usually attempted to see the whole museum over a 3-4 hour stretch.  Because I’m rushing through, trying desperately to see everything, I feel only slightly enriched by the multitudes of things I’ve seen.  I feel like I’m not devoting enough time, or I’m devoting too much time; mostly I’m feeling unfocused and adrift.  I feel guilty because I’m giving the art too little consideration.  By the time I’m done, I’m too often relieved the whole experience is over.  Frankly, I’ve never thought about how one should visit a museum and thus have done it haphazardly.

Paint the Revolution
Paint the Revolution

That is, until I read the thin volume: How to Visit a Museum, by David Finn.  You’ll have to read the book to get the full value of David’s wisdom, but when Mike and I went to Philadelphia right before New Year to see the special exhibition themed “Paint the Revolution: Mexican Modernism, 1910-1950,”  I tried to put into practice some of David’s suggestions; one we took to heart is that we should go at our own pace and try to limit our time to 1-2 hours.

First, I thought about why I was so set on seeing this special exhibition.  It was due to leave the Philadelphia Museum of Art on January 8, so time was running out.  The event was highly publicized so I felt abuzz with excitement. I had gone to Mexico for a two-week study abroad trip in May of 2007, before I discovered my love of photography, so my pictures from there are disappointingly pathetic. I would love to go back now with a new eye to appreciate and capture the colors, art, and culture of Mexico: the whimsical parrot-hued villas and haciendas, arched doors and windows, colorful and folksy tiles, the ubiquitous Virgin Mary, plantations, Talavera vases.  I had seen the 2002 film Frida and was inspired to see some of her work as well as that of her long-time lover, Diego Rivera.  Finally, I didn’t know anything about the Mexican Revolution and wanted to learn something about it.  I wondered what finally pushes people to revolt against evil governments.

The one thing I forgot about special exhibitions is how crowded they often are.  This one was no exception.  However, I still managed to enjoy it by taking David Finn’s advice and following my instincts.  He says:  Be prepared to find what excites you, to enjoy what delights your heart and mind, perhaps to have esthetic experiences you will never forget.

I was drawn to the brilliant orange marigolds in a caravan of punt boats along a canal in The Offering of 1913 by Saturnino Herran.  The artist is known for his innovative approach to representing scenes of everyday life and indigenous customs.  Little did I know that orange marigolds are placed as offerings on altars and graves on the Day of the Dead.  The varied ages of the passengers allude to the cycle of life.  I like the detail of the baby and the girl’s face, which looks rather melancholy.

Alfredo Ramos Martinez (which by the way is my mother’s maiden name), liked to emphasize the effects of natural light and atmosphere.  This pastel shows a Flower Seller traveling with wares by a punt boat.  Seeing this pastel so close made me wish I could learn to do pastels, but first I need to learn how to draw!

Flower Seller (c. 1916) by Alfredo Ramos Martinez
Flower Seller (c. 1916) by Alfredo Ramos Martinez

Here, a man and woman, Peasants, stand in a typically Mexican landscape identified by the cacti on the ridge and the prickly pears the man carries.  This is another gorgeous pastel.

Peasants (c. 1913) by David Alfaro Siqueiros
Peasants (c. 1913) by David Alfaro Siqueiros

Some of the paintings I simply admired in passing for their use of color without studying them very carefully.

I love this Portrait of Marin Luis Guzman (a Mexican writer) by Diego Rivera, mainly for his brightly colored Mexican serape, and the equipal, the woven wicker chair, he sits on.  The top of the writer’s head is stylized in the manner of a matador’s hat. I love these symbols of Mexican culture and would be inspired to find examples of these on the streets of Mexico if I revisited.

After a Cubist period in Diego Rivera’s work, he went back to following the old masters, especially Renoir and Paul Cezanne, in this Still Life with a Bottle of Anise.

Still LIfe with a Bottle of Anise (1918) - Diego Rivera
Still Life with a Bottle of Anise (1918) – Diego Rivera

After Rivera returned from France, he traveled through Mexico for two years to capture indigenous culture.  I love the colorful mural panel depicting native couples in traditional garb dancing the Zandunga, a traditional Mexican waltz popular in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.  I love how the dance takes place under arches formed by banana trees.

Diego Rivera also painted 17,000 square feet of murals depicting the Agricultural Revolution from 1926-27.  These decorated the Ministry for Public Education in Mexico City and showed the Mexican people’s revolt against the old social order.  In the exhibition, these murals are shown as a rotating video on a blank wall, so we can stand and watch an ever-changing panorama.

Ballad of the Agricultural Revolution - Diego Rivera
Ballad of the Agricultural Revolution – Diego Rivera

As fascinated as I am by Frida Kahlo, I was excited to find this Self-Portrait in Velvet, her first self-portrait, which drew on the early Renaissance master Sandro Botticelli and his paintings of women with their elegantly elongated necks.  As a lover of textiles and rich color, I love the pattern on the shawl collar of her dress.  I also love how Frida never hesitated to portray herself with the hair above her upper lip and her ungainly eyebrows.  She seemed to embrace her less-than-feminine characteristics.

Self-Portrait in Velvet (1926) - Frida Kahlo
Self-Portrait in Velvet (1926) – Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo traveled with Diego Rivera through the United States for a number of years, and in this painting, Self Portrait on the Border Line Between Mexico and the United States, Mexico is represented by archaeological ruins, lush plants, and flowers, while the United States is mechanical and industrial, with its skyscrapers and smokestacks.  Kahlo stands between the two worlds, holding a Mexican flag.

Self Portrait on the Border Line Between Mexico and the United States (1932) - Frida Kahlo
Self Portrait on the Border Line Between Mexico and the United States (1932) – Frida Kahlo

I love the curly hair and coy face, as well as the fountains and birds, in The Powdered Woman by Adolfo Best Maugard.

I’m always drawn to Mexican architecture and colors.  It brings back memories of my visits to Mexico City and Cuernavaca in 2007.

Tepito Landscape (1923) - Abraham Angel
Tepito Landscape (1923) – Abraham Angel

As we walk further into the exhibition, we come to the paintings focused on the revolution.  Here, David Alfaro Siqueiros depicted Zapata, a man of action who led peasants against landowners, a political martyr, and the human personification of the Revolution itself.

Zapata (1931) - David Alfaro Siqueiros
Zapata (1931) – David Alfaro Siqueiros

Alfredo Ramos Martinez, after moving to California in 1928, became known for painting a picturesque world of rural flower and fruit vendors, agricultural and craft workers, and indigenous Mexican families, such as the Flower Seller I showed above.  Zapatistas (formerly Mexican soldiers) belongs to a subset of works on themes of conflict and struggle.

Finally, Luis Arenal Bastar painted The Death of Zapata in 1937.

The Death of Zapata (1937) - Luis Arenal Bastar
The Death of Zapata (1937) – Luis Arenal Bastar

Fermin Revueltas showed industrialization creeping into the Mexican economy here in Port.

Port (1921) - Fermin Revueltas
Port (1921) – Fermin Revueltas

Three Nudes by Julio Castellanos shows a spirit of classicism that was strong across Europe in the 1920s.  He gave the women dark complexions and surrounded them with the rush chairs and white plaster walls of a typical Mexican home.

Three Nudes (Breakfast) 1930 - Julio Castellanos
Three Nudes (Breakfast) 1930 – Julio Castellanos

In the original version of The Birth of Fascism, David Alfaro Siqueiros painted the female figure giving birth to a monstrous newborn with the heads of Hitler, Mussolini, and William Randolph Hearst, the U.S. newspaper publisher seen by the left as an American Fascist.  A few years later, he removed the portrait heads, painted over a view of a partially submerged Statue of Liberty, and added a swastika floating on the water’s surface.

The Birth of Fascism (1936-45) - David Alfaro Siqueiros
The Birth of Fascism (1936-45) – David Alfaro Siqueiros

Home altars in Mexico are often dedicated to the suffering Virgin Mary in Mexican folk Catholicism.  This painting, Altar de Dolores (Altar [for the Virgin] of Sorrows), is organized around a dark-skinned Virgin surrounded by objects traditionally placed on such altars, including bitter oranges symbolic of sorrow, sugar-paste angels, and sprouting wheat that refers to Eucharistic bread and by extension to the body of Christ.

Mock battles and disguises are typical of the carnival that marks the beginning of the Catholic Lent.  These enigmatic figures suggest the interaction between life and death, good and evil.

Carnival at Huejotzingo (1939) - Jose Chavez Morado
Carnival at Huejotzingo (1939) – Jose Chavez Morado

Manuel Rodriguez Lozano painted his first fresco, Pietà in the Desert, the Virgin Mary cradling the dead Christ, while he was incarcerated on false charges, probably politically motivated, in Mexico City’s Lecumberri Prison.

Pieta in the Desert (1942) - Manuel Rodriguez Lozano
Pieta in the Desert (1942) – Manuel Rodriguez Lozano

Below are a couple of posters related to Fascism.

I’m not sure of this painting’s significance, but the colorful Lion and Horse was painted by Rufino Tamayo in 1942.

Lion and Horse (1942) - Rufino Tamayo
Lion and Horse (1942) – Rufino Tamayo

Troubled Waters earned Jose Chavez Morado a prize in a 1949 Excelsior newspaper competition for paintings of Mexico City.  This allegory of social stratification, corruption, and other evils of modernization continues a perennial theme of modern Mexican art: life in the big city.

Troubled Waters (1949) - Jose Chavez Morado
Troubled Waters (1949) – Jose Chavez Morado

Finally, Juan O’Gorman won first prize in the 1949 Excelsior newspaper competition for Mexico City.  Besides showing the center of town, it is also about the capital city and the power of national symbols.  Two hands hold up a 1540 map of the gridded Aztec capital to connect the present to the past.  The figures floating over the skyline are the feathered serpent, representing the Mesoamerican deity Quetzalcoatl; the golden eagle from the Mexican coat of arms; and a pair of flying nudes with the tricolor flat emblazoned with the slogan “Long Live Mexico.”

Mexico City (1949) - Juan O'Gorman
Mexico City (1949) – Juan O’Gorman
Detail - Mexico City
Detail – Mexico City

I thoroughly enjoyed this exhibition, while also learning about Mexican culture and the Mexican Revolution. While we drove to Philadelphia, I read aloud to Mike from my phone while he drove, all about the history and important figures in the Revolution; thus, we learned some of the history before we went, further helping us to appreciate our experience.

One thing David Finn recommends in his book is that when you go to see a special exhibition, you should make it a point to visit some part of the permanent collection while you’re there.  Since we’ve come all the way to Philadelphia to see this exhibit, we also wander through the New South Asian Galleries.  I’ll share those with you in another post.  As I’ve lived and traveled throughout South Asia, visiting this part of the museum was a special way for me to travel vicariously back to that part of the world. 🙂

~ Thursday, December 29, 2016.