What’s that mix of emotions as I shake the umbrella outside the door?
Relief that I arrived where intended? Timidity at the crowd? Curiosity at what I will find? Expectation of grandeur?
The exhibition rooms at The National Gallery did not disappoint. It was large enough to become lost. Yet the rooms were carefully numbered. And signage at specific intersections guided those who took the time to read.
School children with notebooks moved as a mass from artist to artist. Family groups strolled past Biblical art. Tourists of all ages, shapes, and nationalities paused to admire work from the past.
While crossing the building from one grand wing to another I realized the building itself was a work of art. Including the very decorative vents in the floor.
