Musings of a Curious Creative

Haunted

Musings of a Curious Creative By Hana Patricia Raj E. Hautea

Say, have you ever been to a museum before?

What was it like?

The first time you went, were you giddy at the thought of what you’d find inside? Of all the hidden treasures and trinkets crafted by brilliant human minds?

Amid the struck of awe, were you uncertain of which masterpiece to scrutinize first? Where did your feet end up taking you? Toward the shining, elegant marble statue of a celestial beast in flight or the vibrant, impressionist painting of what looked like a fruit basket?

Following that decision, did you take your time and drag your feet, unravelling its greatest secrets from afar? Maybe you tried nearing it as swiftly as possible to get the best possible view of the varying strokes and blatant subtleties?

Now, did the dashing young men of the Renaissance actually wink from the corner of your eye, or could it really have been a trick of the light?

Well, how long did you stare at them to be sure? Were they trying to tell you something? Was it something you’d already known?

Whenever you moved onto the next artwork of your affection, did you linger on it in a dedicated attempt to admire its aesthetic, its complexity? Or was the beckoning finger of the neighboring canvas too powerful a temptation?

Here’s a good one: was it your eyes or your instinct that led you all the way to the end of the vast gallery? The comforting hand of a close companion, for some? Why did you have company—or why didn’t you?

Musings of a Curious Creative By Hana Patricia Raj E. Hautea

With all the brilliantly bizarre creativity in visual form, there had to be something you paused to laugh at, right? A particularly phallic-shaped stroke concealed in the corner of a painting or unrealistic body standards in the shape of poorly drawn proportions? Do you ever think they snicker quietly about us too?

What do you think the worn-out women in the frames were whispering about as you ambled towards the exit? Did they peer at you with eyes of disdain, scoffing at how you tilted your head gazing at them? Perhaps the pottery vases came to your defense, arguing that it was in pursuit of appreciation?

Tell me—how did it feel to be surrounded by the magnificence of art in all corners? In the midst of it all, was it a sense of satisfaction and quiet calm that connected you to their creators? Was it the elation and excitement that there was much to be explored?

As you finally stepped out, did you notice anything different? Was the sky a little bluer than it had been? Was everyone oddly kinder than you remembered? Was it all that you imagined it to be?

What was it like?

Ah, how I’d like to know.