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I cried in Musée d'Orsay. There, I'll admit it.
I consider myself a very sentimental and emotional person, to begin with, but crying in a museum is one thing I had not crossed off of my bucket list until a week ago. Most of the time, my reaction to works of art in museums is shock and awe. Truthfully, the word I think I said the most often while walking through museums in France was, "Wow."
At first, I wasn't sure what to expect when walking into the Musée d'Orsay. I certainly had not looked to see what pieces were part of its collections. I figured some iconic French artists, such as Monet, Renoir, and my favorite, Degas, would be featured. What I did not know was that one of my favorite paintings, one that I have stared at photos of and put on many Pinterest boards, was featured in the museum.
Maddie and I were on the fifth floor of the museum, looking through the impressionist paintings, which included many famous works like the "Water Lilies" and Monet's portrait. They were all beautiful, and we were in complete awe of the coloring, emotion, and potential stories behind each work.
As we exited the impressionist exhibit, we passed by a small gift shop focused on souvenirs from the impressionists' works. On the highest shelf, I saw a print of one of my favorite paintings of all time, Degas's "The Blue Dancers."
My jaw dropped.
I had no idea this painting would be featured in this museum, but I knew I could not leave without seeing it in person. I rushed over to the woman working the check-out line, and she said that the painting was on the first floor, room 13.
I turned to Maddie and told her that I needed to return to the first floor, where we spent a lot of time during the first half of our self-guided tour. With great determination, we rushed down the elevator, and I walked to room 13. Looking around, I realized that Maddie and I had already seen the paintings in this room, and the Degas painting was not one of them.
I then went into full tourist mode. I unfolded the smushed museum map from my tote bag, holding the map in different directions, trying to orient myself. I swear, I am directionally clueless without Apple Maps. Somehow, I navigated the Paris metro system but could not find a painting in a museum.
I resorted to asking any member of the museum staff I could find. Turns out that the painting was in room 14, which was across the center lobby. We walked into the room, not expecting to find anything and feeling slightly defeated.
And there it was. Degas's "The Blue Dancers."
I immediately burst into tears. This photo does not do it justice. It was one of the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen.
Now, I don't know much about color composition, lighting, stylistic choices, and brush strokes. Those things are not what made this painting so beautiful to me. It was the moment that Degas captured.
Coming from a dance background, specifically ballet, I have lived this moment on multiple occasions. My dance friends, standing backstage in our beautiful tutus, warming up our feet and preparing for the show to begin, are some of the fondest memories I have of doing ballet. There is nothing like the pre-performance jitters. There is nothing like the excitement, joy, and anticipation of doing something you love and telling stories on stage with your best friends. What I would give to go back to those moments, to take them in, to savor them just a little longer. I wish I could tell myself to cast my nerves aside for a moment and just dance.
I heard the music of one of my favorite ballets, "Coppelia," resounding in my ears. I remembered having my friends clasp the back of my opening costume, the smiles we exchanged between dances, and the sound of my pas de deux partner, Avery, shouting, "That's my best friend!" after I finished my solo. It's his birthday today. I hope he's reading this and reliving some of these moments, too.
This painting, which held all of these memories, was tucked in a corner of the museum in a room where no one else was. I wish it were in a place of honor. I wish people crowded around it like they do the "Mona Lisa." Yet, some part of me appreciated it. It was like the painting was just for me to see.
I'm sure many people reading this may not relate to my story about doing ballet and backstage jitters. Many people reading this may have seen this painting, thought it was pretty, and walked away. That is the beauty and impact of art. There are hundreds of works of art throughout the museum and thousands across Paris, and each one may affect someone in a transformative manner. Not everyone will cry in a museum, but everyone will find a work of art that directly relates to their life experiences or core values.
I am incredibly passionate about art. As someone who expresses creativity through dance, I've experienced firsthand how art can impact your life, cause you to rethink how you see the world, and make you feel deeply. It is a beautiful thing. I hope that everyone can feel the impact of art at least once in their life.
My first time seeing "The Blue Dancers" was one of the most eye-opening and wonderful moments of my life and of my experience with the Manship Olympics Project. Grateful is an understatement. Just wow.
