Mona Lisa
Mona Lisa. Why the fuss over her? I had seen pictures in books and on TV. On our recent family reunion trip to England, we trudged through Paris and made it to the Louvre — with only an hour or so to spend there. My experience:
We were following the signs through the museum to the Mona Lisa because our daughter-in-law wanted to see it. I had, quite frankly forgotten it was even there. People were nearly wall-to-wall (including many groups of children). The place was like a sauna – and heat and my body clash horribly. I was sweating and, at one point had to sit down, I was so overheated. I was ready to just have them wheel me out, but I, quite accidentally, had chosen a seat near a vent and recovered.
Finally, we turned the corner to see her, cordoned off from our sweaty mass. We moved carefully through the throng of people to one side in front. I expected nothing but the right to say, “I saw the Mona Lisa in person.” I received more.
I felt emotion. I have no clue why, nor can I peg which emotion it was, but it was.
I can only call it ‘magic’ – and yet that is such an overused and inappropriate word. All the other paintings we glanced at or studied that day were just objects on the wall, some beautiful, some not to me. None of the others triggered any emotion in me, only the Mona Lisa.
Strange.
Thank you, Susannah, for wanting to see her.
