This photo was taken some time ago. It is hard to sit down and write again. I gave myself a break months ago, expecting to resume within a few weeks. Then instead of weeks, months came and went and I couldn't think of anything to say. So here we are.
I was sitting in Spyhouse, waiting for Andy, who had arrived at the other location and was simultaneously waiting and sipping. The coffee pictured was some kind of disasterous combination of coffee and espresso and sweetened condensed milk. My heart felt like it was clawing its way out of my chest when I was through- either from the concentrated caffeine or sugar, I'm not sure which. When Andy and I realized the flaw, he made his way over and we compared our art tools and Spring Break plans before leaving for the MIA.
I have been to the Minneapolis Institute of Art many times. The bench near Lucretia was a sanctuary for reflection before my Thursday classes in grad school. It was strange to visit again, on different terms. I visit most places this way, lately. We sat in front of two paintings, I with my watercolors, Andy with his pencils. He complained of having his airspace invaded as curious women peered over his shoulder, which only seemed dramatic until their potent perfume kicked me in the head just a moment after. It is a surreal experience, feeling the familiar weight of a brush in your hand while in arms reach of a Van Gogh.
The story isn't finished, but let's call this a success, as writing has begun.