Barter: A gentle voice for a sturdy ear.

Clutching onto a yellow ticket, I stared down at my watch with bewilderment. How could this wait feel so long? Sitting on the fourth floor beside my shadow, I no longer found interest in looking at the paintings on the wall or the sculptures at my feet. I was there solely for the Van Gogh exhibit on the second floor; unfortunately, so was everyone else. Yellow tickets with a specific times printed on them were handed out to guests at the MOMA; my ticket read 5:00PM, though my watch’s all-of-a-sudden slothy hands had just struck 3:31. As excitement turned to curiosity, I explored all the floors of the MOMA, foolishly diluting my attention to the many pieces around me instead of concentrating on one piece that really connected. Later that curiosity turned to fatigue as my feet, magnetized to the floor, refused to budge; I thought perhaps it would be a good time to sit down. Lying on my back, I stared up into the ceiling, lifting my hand before my face, and glanced up at my watch. It was as if melting of the clocks from the Persistence of Memory had resonated to my watch during my last visit here; the time was barely four.

It’s still foggy how I managed to kill the hour; perhaps I lent it to a stranger, one of the few who actually appreciate the masterpieces and could make good use of the time. As the hands finally struck five, I quickly dashed to the Van Gogh exhibit, though careful not to lose my head, or any bits of it. The room was packed, a great showing for an artist who died poor and unknown. As I stared into “Starry Night Over the Rhone,” I sensed something more than visual; it was tactile, the texture of the paint that brought out the shadow of the sky, buried beneath the waves. My feet, no longer unyieldingly attracted to the floor, felt free; it felt like the way nature tickles you before a swim at the beach, as water retrieves back into the sea and carries the sand between your toes. As easily I could have fallen into the water, I instead let my feet sink into the floor beneath me as I looked into the painting and turned away from reality.