I’m wearing my favorite traveling shoes today. They’re reminding me of one day last April when I took the train from DC to Baltimore to meet Addie at the Baltimore Museum of Art. I hadn't seen her in a while. She's now living in Baltimore. We’d never been to this museum together, though she had gone recently on her own to check it out, kind of like a scouting mission for our visit. She reported back that it I would love it - no doubt.
I arrived in Baltimore early in the day and decided that I would just walk the several blocks between the station and the museum. This was after I spoke with a woman at the station who told me that it was a long walk, about 15 blocks, but on a nice day, why not? No problem, I thought. It was a beautiful day and I like walking in cities, so off I went. About two blocks in, however, things started looking pretty sketchy - people and buildings, even the buses going by didn’t look very inviting. So I kept my head down and kept walking. About eight blocks in - I was counting the blocks - two old guys sitting on a stoop, drinking something from brown paper bags looked at me, laughed, and asked for money. “- sorry,” I said weakly.
With no cabs in sight, I had no choice but to keep going. Despite it being a bright blue day, the air smelled of garbage and exhaust, like one big desperate exhale. It was a residential neighborhood, but I didn't see many residents. Through the windows I could see mostly darkness or nothing, no joy, but who can afford curtains or a plant if you're just trying to survive? This is a reality that is so easily ignored by people who can make it different, better.
Counting the blocks became my focus. I was OK. But at around block thirteen a kid approached me and circled me staring at my face and my bag. He was brazen and intimidating. I nodded, like, hi . . .? please don’t take my bag? - attempting to move past him, when a woman sitting on a nearby step said something I couldn’t understand, repeated it, and he backed away. I saw he was wearing an ankle monitor. I looked toward the woman and she glared at me like I was stupid - which I was. And I didn’t belong there - which I didn’t. So, with my bag, I made tracks.
When my heart returned to a normal rhythm, I noticed that within one short block - of 10 blocks of panic - the sounds, the buildings, the energy, and the mood had transformed entirely. I was in Johns Hopkins Universityland - tony, posh, trendy . . . (I won't go into what I think about socio-economic inequality in our world) with the museum just around the corner. People were about and it smelled of cherry blossoms, croissants, and Starbucks coffee. I did feel safer here, but somehow . . . anyway . . . it isn't right.
Addie and I found each other at the museum entrance. Big hug. She looked beautiful. City life suits her. I told her I had kind of a scary walk, but describing it sounded dumb when I was trying to be funny and I let my voice trail off.
“You walked! Are you crazy?”
“I didn’t know . . . I thought . . . whatever. Let’s go in.” I didn’t feel like a grownup in that moment and thought perhaps there is a time when one can admit that one’s children become smarter than they are about some things.
Right away she led me into a large gallery with only Henri Matisse, a hundred, probably, paintings and sculpture. Portrait, landscape, still-life, nude, cut-outs, with color used in ways I had never seen before. I was energized and happy. This was a world I could connect with. It was all so expressive and free, I thought, kind of like Addie. As Matisse taught me to look at art in a new way, I began to look at Addie in a new way - grownup, independent, sophisticated.
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Henri Matisse
Purple Robe and Anemones
1937
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It was a good day - living on the edge, taking risks, making mistakes, feeling empathy and joy. Observing the complexity of humanity in reality and in art is important, at close range, as long as I make it back to where I am free and can find love and inspiration.
My shoes and me.
