Homeward

On our way home, John and I went to the High Museum in Atlanta. We knew it would put us later arriving home, but we needed to partake of the nourishment that can come from viewing art in strange settings. We were carrying over that sense of being on vacation that we experienced in the Sarah P. Duke Gardens. The moment called...

Inside we found an extraordinary and surprising building, especially complementary to the sculptures, which were the first works to meet the eye, I followed them up the ramp while Johnny went his way, and I lost myself in their classic curves, the evocative depths of their expressiveness. Of course the dancer and the sculptor, not to mention the photographer, were moved deeply. And I was content to remain with this weighty and beautifully lit evidence of human hands on clay, on marble, and on bronze. Shall I say excitedly content. I tired myself with the intensity of my absorption.

Soon enough I must locate my brother and coax him to think about lunch and getting back on the road. He had his own quest: to see galleries that might be appropriate for a visiting exhibit of Walter Anderson's art.

After a pleasant lunch in the museum café, we left the building and walked through a group of whimsical sculptures that invited child-like exploring, whether by adult or child. I include a photo of one of those sculptures with an adult whose attitude was refreshingly child-like.
She seems to have heard a cheery "Welcome aboard!"

John and I faced the long drive home. Thank goodness for audio books. Especially, for me, Agatha Christy mysteries, beautifully read by the elegant voices of English actors.