I have found in my experiences that unless people are in the company of those they know well and feel comfortable with, they will put up a façade around them. We are afraid to be ourselves, whoever that person may be. Even those who ooze confidence put up a barrier. But why are we afraid? Are we that unsure of who we are that we can’t even show other people? Apparently the answer is yes, but I would put money on the fact that most people are unaware of their insecurities

I saw Irises again about a week ago, but in a different setting. I was at my new girlfriend’s house for dinner, meeting her parents for the first time. I was nervous, and worried about what was the right or wrong thing to say. It was extremely difficult because I knew nothing about them. I didn’t know what they ate or drank what kind of music they listened to, or what authors they liked to read. I had nothing, but my own body and mind. In my heap of nervousness though, I flipped through a book the Hodgetts’ had sitting on their coffee table that was filled with Van Gogh paintings. I dawdled through the first several pages, but then I saw Irises. Again, it spoke to me. It gave me something to talk to the Hodgetts’ about. It was the medium I had with them, the spark to the fire I was going to try and build. The tension released. An intellectual orgasm. Something to bring out “who I was.” I looked at the picture and saw the flowers for what they were. Wilted, but still beautiful. It reinforced the idea that nothing is perfect. The flowers weren’t perfect, just as I wasn’t, but they had no shame in that, so why should I? It made me realize that even though I wasn’t perfect, I had some good qualities, and maybe I would be appreciated for that. The night was great from then on in, and that left me asking no more questions. It was in the past. Or so I would like to believe. I can’t help wondering though. Does art inspire us to be “ourselves?” It depends on the individual, and how they look at the art. I found Irises to be inspiring, but I can’t speak for the whole world. Art can be inspiring just as easy as anything else can, but it’s all about what works for who is searching. Inspiration takes patience, an open mind, and focus.

I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City a couple of weeks ago. I had been once before, several years ago with my parents, but I didn’t really appreciate the artwork. I would walk around, aimlessly almost, glancing at the artwork, shrugging my shoulders at each piece wondering what was so great about it. I don’t know if I appreciated the artwork when I went back, but I know I enjoyed it, and that satisfied me. I enjoyed the fact that I could go with a completely different mind-set and be interested in what I saw. I felt comfort in the fact that I didn’t have to enjoy everything, but what I did like, I could stare at analyzing what was going on in it. I strolled through the exhibits at a moderate speed; allegro to those musicians. I would see a painting or sculpture that I liked, read the blurb, and move on. There was one painting however that did more th

Some topics in this essay:
Van Gogh, , Bill Cosby, Canvas Paint, Brad Pitt, York City, Irises Dark, Van Gogh’s, “who are”, catch eye, liked read, can’t people, van gogh, white streaks, actors taught, feel comfortable,