Picasso

I woke up feeling sick this morning; my head and throat hurt, and my body felt tired. I wrestled with whether or not it was a good idea for me to go out at all today. This trip is supposed to be about no obligations or plans, after all. However, even though my apartment is bright, and charming, and comfortable, there is a darkness that would creep in if I stayed inside all day. I needed to leave, even if I felt sick, just for a bit.

Yesterday I had the idea of going to the Picasso Museum, so I decided to do that. I never understood Picasso, but I also never really tried to. 

“He paints emotions,” I’d heard.
“His paintings go deeper/further than the physical - they portray the metaphysical,” I’d also heard. 

So perhaps, since I believe I’m currently going through a spiritual awakening, I would see something I hadn’t seen before. Perhaps I would get it. 

I left the apartment and fatigue set in immediately; my legs were tired and my body felt sore. I decided to walk slowly and allow myself to take as long as I needed to get there. I am a habitually fast walker, so this approach to walking was honestly new to me. I took my time down the grand boulevards, down the small, winding cobblestone sidewalks, until I reached the museum. The sun was out, and it was warmer today than it had been yesterday.

Once inside, I took a look at the first painting. 

“That looks like a Picasso,” I thought.
“So does that one. And that one.” They looked the same as always.

So maybe my approach wasn’t right. 

“What do I feel when I see this one?” I thought.

“Anxiety.”
And this one?
“Anxiety.”
And this?
“Fear…and anxiety.”

Maybe I was getting at something. Maybe I wasn’t. 

With the anxiety, I felt something else: I felt like laughing. Maybe it was the absurdness of the figures or the expressions that they appeared to have. The only thought I had that could summarize it was, “humans are so silly."

I felt like the paintings almost mocked humans. Not the individual model or the emotions that specific person was feeling, but all of it. This wasn’t an ill-intended, cruel mockery; it came from a place of compassion for the human race. Like when you can’t help but laugh at a child’s emotional outburst over something trivial, like spilled candy. Your laughter is not cruel, it’s meant to put things into perspective. Whether we cry or laugh, the world will still be the same. 

I stopped at a picture of a yelling woman, or maybe it was just colorful shapes, and smiled. 

Maybe I was getting at something. Maybe I wasn’t.