I was waiting for the elevator at the Met Museum and the gentleman that was manning the elevator door that goes up to the roof garden asked me if I was alone. A bit thrown off, I answered “yes”. He then pressed further asking, “you’re not here with friends? Or your husband?”. I said, no. I was here alone, the husband was working and the kids were at camp. He wasn’t being creepy or anything, just making conversation. He then smiled and said, “Oh, you’re having some alone time. Some time off. I hear that.”
I can’t remember the last time I went to a museum alone. Usually it’s been with the family, or with friends, or as a chaperone for one of the kid’s field trip. But I have to say, it was really nice to walk around with no agenda except to be back in Brooklyn to pick up the kids from camp. I even sat in the heat on that rooftop garden and stared out at the hazy city skyline. Yeah, it was hot, unbelievably so, but the heat with that view was surreal, therefore the sensation of sitting there was really strange. And the Alexander McQueen exhibit? Beyond words. I had heard such lofty words things being thrown around like “life changing”, “the most powerful experience”, and I thought, really? But I can’t quite explain how it felt to be in those galleries and feel what I did, and you can’t even get a sense of the experience from photos or text. So I’ll just leave it at that. But I will say that I came away a bit envious and in complete awe at the passion and vision it takes to create such art. I hope to find it someday.