I’m Not Moving From In Front Of This Museum Painting
I’ve been standing in the same spot for hours, staring at one painting in the museum gallery. The crowd shuffles around me, straining to catch a glimpse of this glorious artwork. But guess what? I’m not going anywhere.
Would you like to see this flawless creation? My face is four inches from the canvas, so you’ll have to stand behind me. I’m six-foot-two, so if you’re taller than that, including my ten-gallon cowboy hat, then go for it. Otherwise, you’ll be looking at my back.
I don’t choose paintings that are large enough for people to squeeze next to me and still gain some pleasure out of viewing them. I pick ones that are small enough for me to block from every angle. I come prepared with a raincoat and umbrella, which I hold away from my body, so my width is as obstructive as my height.
Do you wonder what I’m thinking as I gaze at the painting? The joke’s on you — I’m not even thinking about it. I’m too busy watching your reaction in my peripheral vision, so I can savor your squirming with frustration.
Sometimes I close my eyes. Then, just when you think I’ve gone into a trance, I’ll shift my weight, or clear my throat, or mutter something under my breath, like “fascinating,” or “incendiary,” or “Adam Driver.”
