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Museum Of Art Analysis

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My little legs shuffled along as tried to catch up to my mother, taking the marble staircase two steps at a time. "Why is she so excited," I thought to myself. She slowed down as we entered a tall room, colors and frames and canvases lined along the walls. I followed behind with an unimpressed glare across my face and mumbles upon my lips: "Why do we always have to come to the art museum." I had seen more art than any other twelve-year-old I knew. In fact, at the time I was fairly certain that I had seen more art than anyone I knew.

She shushed me as we stepped into a small, dark room tucked away in the corner of the museum. She pointed to a painting not much bigger than my head, and I walked into the surrounding pool of light. The plaque underneath the painting read "Woman Holding a Balance-Johannes Vermeer" I stood still for probably the longest I ever had, so perplexed by what hung in front of me. My mind tried to comprehend how the artist could use shape and color to make such an ordinary woman appear so complex. I wished to have that same ability to transform lives and ideas, and for one solitary moment I understood why my mom had dragged me here all these years.

As a teenager, I begged my mother to take me to art museums, I listened to her talk about every painting she knew,
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It made me feel closer to her in a sort of bizarre academic way; she was my sole source of artistic knowledge. My sophomore year of high school I decided to take an art history class. I would leave school unable to shut up about what we had discussed in class. My friends would giggle and groan, "here she goes again." That was when I became most connected to art. I didn't know many kids that spent their time on the internet researching why Klimt uses gold in 'The Kiss' or how Baroque art uses movement to create emotional intensity. It felt like my own little secret that pulled me towards worlds of the
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