Impressionism & hands on

I stared at the paintings at the Seattle Art museum, studying the brush strokes and textures left by hands centuries ago. 

The irony of staring at something beautiful and hearing something so brutally ugly was not lost on me. It wasn't the first but I secretly hoped it was the last.

I wandered the room, ignoring the line that formed from one painting to another based on the audio tour. We dipped in and out of the line narrowly avoiding past friends, both of whom passive aggressively Christian. Not my style, we left lightly mocking the man buns and into the brisk Seattle January air . 

The lesson being that I have no power of any of this, be it that or anything else.