A Trip to Washington and a reminder of my blog's name

Sarah and I went to Washington on Saturday to visit the National Gallery of Art. It was the first time I had ever been to that particular museum. On the way to the metro, we heard on the radio that there was going to be an anti-war protest. I am not a big fan of this or any other war, so I was anxious to see what the atmosphere was like. We shared the train with many people who were heading in for the march. I don't want to assume that the entire population of the march was represented on this one train car, but I did not feel like I belonged. It seemed to me that many people were just as angry and prone to violence as those on both sides who started the war. Others seemed like spoiled rich kids who decided to put on the badge of compassion for the day to impress their friends. I overheard one kid say "If I get arrested today, I am so not going to driving school tomorrow." When we emerged from the metro station onto the National Mall, we came upon a large group of counter protesters. They seemed mostly to be defending the war by waving the flag. It seems me that if a national banner justifies a war, how could we fault those Germans who joined Hitler's cause? We then came upon a man rallying in support of the war whose only item of communication was a 10 foot tall wooden cross. At this point I was getting very frustrated. Thanks buddy. That really helps. Everywhere I turned I felt out of place. The day took a much better turn as we entered the museum. To begin with, I came across the picture at the bottom of my blog titled "Northern Landscape, Spring" by German Romantic painter Caspar David Friedrich. His art tended focus on portrayals of loneliness and desolation, and this is no exception. Like Charlie Brown when Lucy diagnosed him with Panaphobia (fear of everything) on A Peanut's Christmas, I felt like screaming "That's it!" I can't believe I never visited this fantastic collection of art. I don't know if it is because there are so many other things to do in DC, but the museum did not seem very crowded. It seemed at times as though we had paintings such as this self-portrait of Vincent Van Gogh to ourselves. What a privilege to be able to stand inches away from the canvas and gaze deep into those haunting, haunted eyes with no one to disturb us. It was as though we had a private audience with Vincent himself. I am not sure why this made me feel better. It might not even make sense. But it did help. I am not suggesting that art should replace human relationships. On this day, I found a friend on canvas when I had been feeling otherwise very alone. I am glad for this reminder of why I chose the name for this blog. I guess when I find myself in that place, it forces me to find a truer identity. I am also glad that I had my wife to enjoy and share the experience with me.