Last weekend, I took my very first trip to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City and let me tell you, it was quite the experience. Tears were shed (mostly by me), odd looks were received (all by me), and inspiration had struck.
With wide doe eyes and a gaping black hole for a mouth, I cemented my feet down in front of every artwork for probably a bit longer than socially acceptable. But the transition from a page in my art history textbook to right in front of my face was too insane to grasp. Everything felt so tangible, so real. It was as if the artists were saying to me, “Hey look! All we had to work with was this surface and some colors and look what we made! It’s so easy and attainable, even you can do it!”. To which I mentally replied, “Who? Me?“. And they of course answered with a resounding, “Yes, you!“.
So with an ego boost due to Monet’s imaginary encouragement and thoughts swirling in colors that even Van Gogh would envy, I went out in search of a canvas to knock out a masterpiece myself.
Because that’s an easy thing to do, right?