Today I visited the inauguration of the re-opening of the Museum of Sketches (Museum of Artistic Progress and Public Art). When I finally got in after queuing in the cold January evening for an hour, I was overwhelmed by Art coming at me from all directions.
There were sketches in the ceiling. There were colours, discarded drafts, contemplations, sculptures, small, huge. And it did not end. Small, windling stairs led to other floors and wings, with other oeuvres. With time frozen in space, or the other way around. However still beating, breathing and shaping its observer.
Trying to identifying this feeling, I realised that what filled me was relief. The alleviation of being reminded of one essential: art is always present. Creativity finds its intersection in all places. This is my refuge that, at the same time, contrarily and incessantly, makes me face myself in new constellations. Interspection through observation.