Last Sunday, feeling down about the debasement of the presidency and with July Fourth looming, I headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in search of the American Wing.
Though I have visited the Met on at least six occasions over the past year, I tend to return each time to the modern and contemporary art, especially paintings by Picasso that I never tire of seeing. Thus, even with a map of the galleries, I asked twice for directions to the American Wing, a journey that took me across the building.
Once there, I entered the galleries and passed a series of portraits from the 18th century that led me to “Washington Crossing the Delaware,” the painting by Emanuel Leutze that anchors the wing. The massive panorama, which was restored several years ago, practically shimmers.
My gaze went to the armada of wooden boats filled with men, horses and guns that stretched a mile long like some 18th century D-Day, pushing through a river choked with ice on Christmas Day to dislodge Hessians camped on the other side. Being resolute under duress seems like something worth remembering nowadays.
Nearby hangs “Camp Fire” by Winslow Homer. The painting depicts two men camped in the high peaks of the Adirondacks. The scene captures the woodsmen seemingly lost in thought in the comfort of their camp.
I also liked gazing at “The Teton Range” by Thomas Moran. The jagged peaks of the mountains remind me of the natural beauty of the West and, for that matter, so much of America.
