Gia Raquel

A gloomy Friday the 13th loomed over my head as much as the longing to go back to the Neue Galerie. It had been months since my first visit to the Woman In Gold. From the moment I walked into the room, I fell in love with her. I didn’t think I could find more peace than just sitting in front of her as people from around the world walked by and attempted to sneak pictures. But somehow I was lucky enough to stumble upon another niche in this museum.

On the third floor, The Scream hangs silently in his little blue room. Up close, it looks different from pictures online. My first thought was that this was a fake. It was a copy or something. But I was reassured that this was, in fact, the original.

Walking aimlessly around the rooms spreads a sense of wonder through me. I sit down and not only watch the paintings but the viewers as well. I listen for foreign accents and wandering couples comparing art to each other. I’ll look for lost souls looking around, wondering if anyone sees them. I’ll make stories of their beautiful lives and hope they’re all happy with reality. And sometimes, I’m lucky enough to talk to one of them.

Often when I’m alone, I become more adventurous. In museums specifically, I ask the security guards what their favorite piece in the room is. I like to think it’s a nice change from hearing ‘where is the bathroom?’ or having to say ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t take photos’.

I found a college student with an easy smile and tired eyes. I asked what his favorite paintings were on this floor, and it surprised me to hear the same exact ones that caught my attention upon entering each room. Frankly, hearing the security guards talk about their favorite pieces is just as good as seeing those pieces. You see a spark in their eye, and suddenly they’re alive again.

Now, I don’t want this turning into a story time about me being in a museum. Because honestly, that’s not the point I want to get across. The security guard had brought up The Scream and its meaning. All my life, I had thought The Scream was a man screaming. Imagine my surprise when I found out otherwise. He explained that if you looked a little closer, you could see The Scream was actually covering his ears. The man was trying to block out the screams of nature. Thus, the vivid swirls come to play and this small world had fallen apart in front of me and the man trying to block out the noise.

All these years, I thought I had The Scream figured out. But meaning is in the eye of the beholder. And to find this different meaning so evident yet not as exposed intrigued me to no end.

Do you ever try to stop the world around you? That maybe if you block out your senses, nothing is truly happening?

We are The Scream. Whether we are the ones making noise, or trying to shield from it. There are those that yell as if the sky crashing down will stop this constant pain. But then there are others who experience the pain of everything shattering.

Which is better? The souls seeking and screaming to be found? The tired people that no longer care?

Who are you?

Don’t lie.

Once in a while, I scream. I scream until my throat is raw from frustration and fury. But other times, most of the time, I block everything out. I go on with my life like everyone tells me I should. I live with cotton in my ears and pretend it’s normal to continue with a piece of me missing.

Maybe I hope that if I keep on going to these museums and asking more people, I’ll find that piece.

We can only hope to be heard. But I wonder, who would answer? Maybe it’ll be the next security guard I speak to.