One summer in college, I studied abroad in Paris to satisfy some philosophy and art history requirements for my degree. After our plane landed, my class went straight from arrivals to Musée de l’Orangerie, where I proceeded to get lost in Claude Monet’s impressionistic masterpiece Nymphéas (Water Lilies). I was running on jet lag and red-eye anxiety, but the longer I stared, the calmer I felt.
The collection of paintings curves around concave walls in multiple oval-shaped rooms, and despite the masses of admirers walking through, the space is typically pin-drop silent. It felt like sitting next to a halcyon pond where the last thing
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