Consolations of Art.

Consolations of Art.

That phrase kept ringing in my head all day yesterday. Brain-addled? Maybe. Maybe not. Funny. It is music, art, literature, poetry, theater that I turn to when things look dire.

Things often look dire. So I bury my head in books. I'm always spinning music. Seeking out poetry and theater. Last night we went to a party. That phrase was still swimming in my head.

We entered a classic Chicago apartment building. Old brick, classic floor plan. One uncommon feature: a long, an impossibly long, fantastically long, improbably long, hallway that ran thru the apartment from the front door to the back door.

How long? I'm not sure. My sense of space is not reliable. 40 feet? 50 feet? 75 feet? 150 feet? Let's just say it seemed like a never-ending hallway and every inch of it was filled with art. Paintings, sketches, prints. Big names like Chagal, Picasso, Dali, Renoir. Many other names too, names that I didn't know.

Beautiful, improbable, thrilling, amazing, funny, inspiring work. A lifetime of collecting art, displayed in this strange, fantastic, hallway. A hallway of art.

Incredible. It was stunning. Thrilling. Overwhelming. I never saw so much art in someone's home, in a place where someone actually lived. An embarrassment of riches. Art. Overstuffed with art. Consoling. Yes. Healing too. So much energy radiating from the walls. A magic hallway. Unexpected.