The museum, from the grandeur of the architecture to the collections of brilliant artwork, was my vision of nirvana. Perfect – less the throngs of gabby, babbling self-appointed art aficionados. The profound communiqué of the masters would never be heard by these.
I was engaged in a wordless tête-à-tête with Gauguin’s Te Arii Vahine when I heard yet another imbecile insist, “My third grader can paint better than thaaat!”
My left eye twitched. I ached to argue the precision, the technique, but recognized I needed to be more persuasive. I aimed low to avoid spattering her viscera on Femmes de Tahiti.