NYAC | 3min Read
Published on May 7, 2026
The Museum Where it all Began
The Museum Where it all Began
There was a commotion in the halls as our professor led the way into the Art Museum. To visit this
renowned museum, our university had been planning a trip for in the past three months. All of our
class, with the professor in-charge is the first to reach. We enter the main hall, titled ‘Renaissance’.
The walls on all four sides and the ceiling are painted a sapphire blue with streaks of golden. An
illuminating chandelier is hung on the ceiling in its centre. There are three passageways exiting this
room except the one we entered through. One to the left, leading to the ‘Sculptures’ room, and two to
the right, each leading to the center for Indian and Japanese art shows held in the evening.
Abstract artistries have been neatly hung in frames that decorate the walls. Students chatter amongst
themselves, ignoring the details present in the room. Their loud voices test the professor’s patience.
“Silence!”, shouted my professor. A pin drop silence. Everybody solemnly obeys him, with nothing
but the sound of birds heard chirping outside. The rain hits the ground in an elegance, varying
overtime from drizzling and a thunderstorm.
The smell of wet soil seeps in. A faint but delicious smell of chocolate cake also fills the atmosphere.
It is coming from the museum’s in-built restaurant. I admire the paintings on the wall, the way their
colours portray much emotion. Each shade of a single colour is unique. It stands for various different
things. The most prominent colours in all of the paintings are — crimson red, olive green, mustard
yellow, misty blue and horizon orange. There lies a not only large but also unique tapestry, boxed in a
glass cage at the very center of the area.
Each artistry is from the ancient period, of the eighteenth or nineteenth century. The names of the
artists are given below the frame in an italic’s font, with a short description of their early life and
other artworks. I believe this room inspires me the most, although I haven’t been to the others. The
intense colours and distinct forms of art have a highlighting effect. I never miss a detail when visiting
museums, to understand the deep thoughts put into work. It fascinates me. “What must go on in the
artist’s mind?” is one question I constantly ponder upon. I do understand that it is difficult to answer,
but isn’t it something worth spending your time to research on?
There exist people who make a living out of such answers. In some museums, they explain the
meaning behind the artwork and what inspired the artist. Unless quoted by the artist himself, I do not
believe in it. Unexpectedly, someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around.
“Hi, I’m Robert. Would you fancy a walk with me?”
“Sure, why not.”
Robert Ashworth is my classmate. He has always been a quiet kid, never spoke to anybody in class.
He always wore a jacket with a hood, so I hardly ever saw his face clearly. He has wavy brunette hair,
similar to mine. His eyes are amber, with just enough brown in them. He looks about 5 feet 11 inches,
give or take. I spoke to him for the first time about a week ago, for the details of this trip.
“I noticed you staring at each of the artworks immersively. Thought I may approach you to know
what you think of them, and if you don’t mind tell you what I think too.”
“I would like that. I’ve not met someone since a very long time who actually understands vintage
artwork.”
