A Real Life David Hockney Painting

Sometimes life imitates art. Or is it the other way around?

It’s a sunny and calm day in the city. Saturday has settled down and so has everyone’s lives.

I wish everyday was like this: not giving much though about looking at the clock— what time it is now, how many hours are left to get to a certain place, whether have I taken too much of my time with this or that. Life is just about existing in the present moment, without further expectations.

For me, one of the many joys that comes along with the weekend is the opportunity to enjoy silence. Silence to me feels like an easy treatment; an unquestionable source of sanity. Something that we don’t often get during the week days of our fabricated daily routines of rushing schedules and constant movement. That constant presence of noise feels wearing to me.

On this quite and peaceful Saturday, we seized the daylight hours by having a delightful lunch with some of our friends at a local pizzeria. A Mediterranean-looking place with stone squared tables and ivy-filled white walls, hinting a smell of firewood burning on the big pizza oven right at the entrance hall. It screamed Saturday outdoor lunch. We topped it with a visit to an art museum just a couple of streets ahead.

One of the best things about museums is the silence. Few places manage to have that effect on people without having to be an imposed rule. When you enter in a museum, the atmosphere instantly makes…