I’ve written several times before about how I like to visit a particular painting at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts—Vuillard’s The Artist’s Mother Opening a Door.
Last week I was at the museum with a friend, and we went and looked at the painting together.
“I’ve never really been able to articulate why this moves me so much,” I said to my friend.
And my friend said, “Maybe it’s because that is exactly what it feels like when you’re a kid and your mother opens the bedroom door to check on you when you’re sick or you had a nightmare. And you open your eyes and see her standing there and you see all that light behind her and you think that maybe it will be okay.”
Yes.
That.
Exactly that.

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