The National Gallery

Did I even mention the National Gallery of Art yesterday?

I don’t think I did.

Growing up, my parents never really talked about art.

At least, not that I remember.

I’ve come late to the Art Appreciation Game.

But I married a good-looking artist and we’re raising a handful of creators so I am educating, learning and teaching.

And I am realizing –

I love art.

It’s personal and subjective.

And it’s really fun.

My friend Hilary is a committed Andrew Wyeth fan.

His art is highlighted at DC’s National Gallery.

Man.

It was incredible.

Just like all of DC, we just scratched the surface of the museum.

(And we somehow wound up listening to a classical music concert in another language.)

It was like Christmas around ever corner –

Renoir.  Degas.  Rembrandt.  Van Gogh.  Picasso.  Dali.

(My word.  Big names.  Icons of Art.)

I loved when the girls recognized an artist from our previous studies.

It was an immediate connection

between a brush and a time in history and a little homeschool in the south.