kill: (Default)
( Mar. 15th, 2009 02:16 pm)
I am very emotional today. There is no reason, other than that I am extremely tired and that I am PMS-ing, and it makes me act like a petulant child, and everything threatens to spill over. I did finish a final exam essay that I was worried about, but not until about 2 am. This morning I went to the Seattle Art Museum to look at a collection George de Forest Brush's "Indian paintings" that he did in the 1880s. The exhibition presents him as one of the only White artists that worked to portray Native Americans in a sympathetic manner at that time.

I walked into a room, drawn by the small bust portraits of several men, and I turned around and saw the painting that I've put behind the cut. It is a moving picture, no doubt, but my eyes welled up and my throat tightened so fast that I thought I was going to have to run for cover of the restroom, for fear of becoming a messy blob of tears right there in the middle of the gallery.

George de Forest Brush's -Mourning Her Brave-, 1883 )

I stayed for the gallery talk and now I am at work. I still have quite a bit of studying left to do, but by this time tomorrow I will be done with the quarter, and though I am always sad to stop studying certain things, it will be a relief. And I will immerse myself in library books. And internet teevee.

'Til then.


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