Ode to the Tate on a Thursday morning in August

Nothing is more perfect than walking into a room, tall & cool & echoing, cavernous as a cathedral, with canvases floor to ceiling.
These windows to other worlds, other times hang silent & stunning.

I enter & pause. Take a deep breath. Here there is no jarring of the senses, no feeling of hours & minutes but years & centuries, no outside world.

I walk through with reverence as though, if I am still & quiet & calm enough, I can absorb the beauty of the world.

This is my church. This is my spirituality, this is my holy writ.
This is my inspiration & hope.

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