I’ve visited, off and on over the past 35 years, this self portrait Rembrandt painted as an older man. It hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art here in New York.
He has always stared just past my left ear, as if he has something on his mind, sometimes concerned about me, sometimes engrossed in his own thoughts. Continue reading “rembrandt’s gaze”
Years ago, when one of my sisters and her husband were visiting New York, she returned after a long day of tourist activity still wearing the little tin Met button from her morning visit to the museum.
“Do you know what the ‘M’ stands for?” I asked.
“Metropolitan Museum of Art,” she replied cautiously, aware that the question was too elementary.
“No, that’s inside the museum,” I insisted, “but do you know what it means outside?”
She stared at me curiously.
Continue reading “one more for the new york time capsule”