Museums and Caravaggio

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, August 9, 2024

Museums and Caravaggio 

Whenever I walk into a museum or gallery, specifically The Met, the power and beauty of the 400-year-old pieces washes over me. As soon as I step foot into that colossal building, I feel the rumbling of thousands of feet hitting the cool marble floors. The cacophony of languages from all over the world always finds a way to ignore the noise cancelation of my AirPods. Why can I still hear and feel everything when I’m not supposed to? Is this what The Met is? Loud and passionate? But then I begin to wonder if I, too, am a part of the problem. Are people annoyed by MY loud ass heels clacking against those marble floors? Even on a solo trip, am I loud and passionate too? I wonder if people can see the sparkle in my eye every time I step into the Robert Lehman Wing. Whether they notice my visceral reaction every time I spot a new detail revealed from behind the oil-painted willow trees. Does my curiosity and gratitude to be in the mere presence of masterpieces like these radiate throughout the room? I wonder if anyone else experiences The Met like I do. There’s no way. There’s no way that they wish to have existed in the same period as Rembrandt. There’s no way that they get the same rush as I do from (literally) any 13th-century painting. Or maybe they do. What makes me so special? One day I would love to successfully explain my feelings towards art on paper. Neither I nor chat GPT can find an adjective strong enough to encapsulate my love for these revolutionary artists. How is it possible for someone to paint velvet so precisely to a point where it literally makes me emotional, without any prior knowledge of how to do so? Now Caravaggio is someone whose work I cannot fathom. He paints scenes lit by candles. Do you understand that? Do you understand that in order to paint a scene lit by candles, you have to be in a room… lit by candles? That you have to sit there, set up your 10-foot canvas, and paint what you see? Do you understand how difficult it is to see in dim light? And then on top of that, paint what you see? With such precision and accuracy? And the days things like this take. Weeks, even months to finish. Every one of his subjects has to go back into place each time he decides to pick the brush back up. God, do I feel bad for them. 

Every one of Caravaggio’s faces always reminds me just how much I want to work with his art and those of his contemporaries. The way his faces look at me with the wetness in their eyes. As if he figured out a way to capture their souls along with every single hair on their body. It is only until I prattle about the Renaissance where people can really grasp my love for the arts. I. Love. Art. And for some reason, I still don’t have a shirt that says so. But thank god I have the Met. And thank god I work at a museum and get free admission to every other one in the city. Or maybe thank Caravaggio. Yeah, I thank him. Him and all the other artists that I love. Thank you to all the artists who have exposed me to truly unique and unreplicable talent.

Now, I try to go to The Met two or three times a month. Why? 1: because it brings me physical joy, 2: because the art inspires me to write, and 3: because they own two Caravaggio pieces. Although small, these are the only two works by him that I have seen in person. And they’re even more majestic than how the videos describe them. And yes, these pieces are dark. And from far away enough, difficult to see. But once those Italian tourists give me a turn to admire the work of their ancestors, I move right on in. I get as close as I can while still respecting the masterpiece and just stare. I stare and stare. I stare until see about 70% of the piece and until I understand 30%. I don’t think it’s possible to catch every detail in a painting until you see it for the 10th time. A piece will continue to surprise you every time you analyze it. Actually, forget what I said earlier. You will never catch every detail in a painting. Because every time you look at it from a new light, it does the same thing to you. We are all continuously changing people. We are not the same person as we were yesterday, or the last time we saw this painting. Therefore, if you look at a piece once or 100 times, it will grow with you. You will see it for how you feel- which may be a surprise every time. The first time I saw Caravaggio's  work in person was in June. I couldn't even tell you how many times I have walked through the room that inhabit these two pieces without even batting an eye in their direction. I mean, of course, I had probably seen it, but when you share a wall with about five other pieces that are much larger and brighter than yours, it gets lost. It is only until you have been made aware of something that you finally begin to see it and appreciate it for the way it is supposed to be appreciated.