Regatta at Sainte-Adresse by Claude Monet (1867)
As I stood in front of the steps, I looked helplessly at the map. I couldn’t remember which direction was 3rd Ave and which was Park Av when getting out of the train station near the dorm, and people expected me to find an entire wing of paintings in this place? Finally reaching the right area, I wandered aimlessly from room to room of the MET, fiddling with my camera as I waited for some painting to stop me in my tracks. Professor Graff is lucky I could even find my way here, I thought to myself, remembering the five minutes I spent trying to find my place on the museum map a bit earlier. I stopped for a moment, when an older couple arguing in rapid French moved, and a splash of blue caught my eye. This painting of the shoreline was so simple, yet it took my breath away. I knew this would be the one. Raising my camera, I took the picture; the satisfying click of the shutter went off.
All of a sudden, I heard the gentle crashing of the waves against the shore. Taking a step back, I felt myself lose balance as my camera slipped from my hands. I dove to the ground, grabbing it before it could hit the sand. Except it wasn’t sand, but pebbles and rocks, worn smooth by the ocean. The heat of the sun was beating down on top of me as I looked around.
There were a handful of couples on the beach, some strolling arm in arm, others placed on top of blankets watching the waves come rolling in. Faint whispers of conversations in French drifted as these well-dressed beachgoers passed me by, not even acknowledging my existence. I could almost taste the salt in the wind as I turned my head to see a whispering couple pointing in my direction. While watching a small seagull hop around a few feet from me, the full realization of what had happened suddenly hit me.
“Oh my god,” I mumbled under my breath. “My mom is going to kill me.”
I slumped down onto the ground with my head in my hands. After taking a deep breath, or two, or possibly ten, I looked up to see that the couple had made their way over to my spot where I sat huddled on the rocks. Clad in a cream colored silk dress complete with a white lace parasol, it was obvious this woman and her spouse were well off. They appeared to be admiring the view of the sea, but their stolen glances in my direction gave away their curiosity. I stood up as the woman neared me. Opening a hand fan, she began fanning herself as she turned to me.
“Stop slouching, darling. You’ll never find yourself a husband with that posture,” she quipped over the tip of her fan.
“Dear, look at her. She has that same lost look as the rest,” her husband drawled, stepping beside her. “Are you also one of those New Yorkers?” he questioned.
“How do you know that?” I cried out. “Wait, do you know what-“
With a flick of his hand, he cut me off. “We get a few like you every week. Come on, Edna, we can’t be late for tea at your mother’s.”
And just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, the couple linked arms and continued past me. Now more confused than ever, I knew there was something familiar about the brilliant blue sky flecked with clouds and the ships that scraped the surface of the blue-green ocean. Throwing my hands over my eyes, I racked my thoughts, trying to remember why this moment seemed so familiar until-the painting.
“No. This is not happening.” I reached down and grabbed my camera, scrolling through the photos until I reached the one of the painting. Looking back up, I saw that my view was the same as that of the painting. Deciding to take a real life picture of the fantastic view, I stepped back a bit and snapped a photo. Looking back up, I found myself face to face with the painting again. I spun around, making sure I was back in the museum. Ignoring the questioning looks of the other visitors, I looked through my photos to see if that had actually happened. Just as I thought, the last photo taken was that of the painting. But it had all seemed so real? Noticing my frown, an elderly woman next to me spoke up.
“Honey, is everything all right?”
“I think so,” I started after a few seconds, “although I think it’s time to lay off the coffee.”
“Too much caffeine can do crazy things to your mind, “ she chuckled as she walked away, leaving me with nothing but my dizzying thoughts and a knowing smile.
