Since it’s a rainy, gross morning in Pennsylvania, I’ve spent the morning going through photographs on my phone, culling them. And that brings me to this photo.
This is a painting that hung in my room in the intensive care ward at St. Joseph’s earlier this month. It’s an autumn painting, a blanket of leaves in a kaleidoscope of colors that have fallen and now cover a lawn or a forest floor.
I stared at this painting for four days, and though I could see the obvious autumn foliage, that’s not what I saw in the painting at all.
I saw a Jazz Age party. I saw a crowded room, I saw the backs of heads, I saw people dressed and mingling and enjoying themselves. I saw a Gatsby party.
It wasn’t what the painting was or was ever meant to be, but seeing it that way brought me joy.