It was all picturesque and serene, pastel and full of color. Even the rocks shone red, purple, orange, mixed with the black and grey and white of normalcy. The giant arch was the focus of the piece for sure, with water surrounding it peacefully. The Manneporte Near Étretat caught my eye as I passed by it at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but it was much like the other paintings around me. Water lilies were more popular by far, I was sure. After all, the artist was Monet. This specific painting was mystical and attracting regardless.

I stared at it as if in a trance.

I could feel the setting engulfing me, that amazing, wonderful color.

A beautiful summer day spent watching the rocks looming over me…

Yeah, I could imagine that.

And suddenly I was, feeling the cool and salty breeze, the sun on my face. I was standing on a small rock standing tall in the shallow water surrounding the multicolored huge one. Everything was as colorful and dreamlike as a rainbow. Rocks were supposed to be grey and dull, but no, these ones were pastels in a sea of transfixing blue.
I had been pulled into the painting, living and breathing it!

It was magic.

It was beauty.

It was art.

I was part of the art.

Luckily there was no one around to witness my astonishment while I marveled. Otherwise any residents of this strange world would think I would be quite out of place for gawking. I made my way ashore and could still see some semblance of civilization. Past the rocky beach, grasses covered a stretch of land, then small houses pale and beautiful could be seen. I wouldn’t have seen them in the painting. They were the uncaptured nature, cut off due to the limited canvas space. Here they were regardless, erected into the soft sand.

I wondered if I should go to the little houses and poke around but the painting was focused on the giant rock, so it must have been the focus on the beach.

I approached the large figure and reflect again on the unique coloring.

Then I heard a voice.

“Hey!” I looked around for the source but don’t see anyone around the huge rock.

“Hey you!” I turned around. It must be coming from the opposite direction. I looked toward the little houses.

A man is walking toward me and he is as strange as the rest of the view, colorful, pastel painted over. I looked at my own skin and clothes in contrast, bland and far too dull.

“This is ma land!” The man cried.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I sort of just wandered here,” I replied, unsure how to explain my sudden appearance.

“Well, get! Get off’t!”

“This might sound a little silly, then, sir…” I started.

“Yeah? Yeah? I don’t care, long as you get off ma land!” He interrupted.

“How do I get back to the Metropolitan Museum of Art? I was looking at this piece of work based on your arch and water here. Suddenly I’m like zapped into this world!”

“Son, you got your head screwed on weirdly. Don’t you know this is all just in your head? You gotta stop being so…”

“…obsessed with art!”

I looked up to see my friend, Sam, next to me. I’m back in the Met, no longer in the colorful painting’s world.

“You okay there?” He asked me, looking at me.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I told him.

I stared at the painting one more time. I take in the beauty.

I never got so sucked into a painting ever again.