Art Is Worth Living For

A trip to the museum, and some thoughts on Jason Arday's alleged passing

I almost started to cry when I bought my membership to the Philadelphia Museum of Art yesterday.

I had been a member years ago, but for some reason I stopped. I don’t even know why. I love art. I used to go to the museum all the time. My mom and I were regulars at the Friday night live music and snacks show in the Great Stair Hall.

I wonder why I stopped going.

For me, art is more than therapy. It’s life. I’ve never been a visual artist unless you count my flower pictures (which I suppose you could) but I basically minored in art history in college and I’ve loved art museums since my parents dragged me to the North Carolina Museum of Art seemingly all the time when I was a kid. My favorite thing back then was the mummies.

Yesterday, as a reward for getting through eight weeks of six days a week of SAT camp, I took myself to the museum. Just me. I like to go alone. Though I wouldn’t mind meeting someone there, I like to commune with the art by myself. Then I sometimes like to just sit and stare at one of the art works, or just out into the stair hall, being a part of this wonderful home of civilization.

My membership only cost $65 for the entire year because I got the educators’ discount! It’s usually $90 which is extremely good since one visit costs $30. They have “pay as you wish” on Friday evenings and Sundays, but I like to go anytime I want. I love it when it’s quiet and not so crowded.

A nice young lady named Fiona sold me my membership. I kept back the tears until I got into the American section just off the entrance. Then I started to see my old friends.

Homer. Eakins. Tiffany. So many.

Old friends…

Not going to the museum is a form of self-harm for me. It’s like not doing yoga or not walking every day. I need a dose of art to just keep going.

Life has become too much of a grind. I don’t do enough things I enjoy. Art, social events, entertaining… I need to do these things, so I am going to do them.

Somewhere along the line I got convinced, if subconsciously, that I should not do things I enjoy. I could outline how this happened but I won’t. I’ll just be glad that a series of events shocked me out of that belief, and back to being who I actually am.

Thank you for reminding me.

Van Gogh’s sunflowers are on display. A woman wearing sunflower earrings and a sunflower dress was looking at them. I complimented her look.

Do people live without art? Sure. Some people watch baseball and football and no doubt marvel that others survive on a daily basis without sports. Some people don’t care at all for art, but I am not one of those people. I would never try to force someone to come to the museum, but I will happily take their place as one of the art worshipers on any given day.

As I was leaving I read that Jason Arday had been found dead. I doubt that I am the only one who wonders: is he really dead? Given his history of creating fiction, this could be another. It’s the perfect ending to his story - if he could fake it I wouldn’t blame him.

I actually hope he did fake his own death, as unlikely as that may be. I’d rather the fellow go off to live somewhere, perhaps happily, than to have died. Others have written better than I will about this, like my friend Chris Arnell, but I will echo a little of what Chris said.

Whatever the guy was guilty of, he didn’t deserve a death sentence. People can always do better in their next chapter. I’ve been given so many second chances that I figure I’ve run out of my nine lives. I’ve done some stupid things, hurt some people, as I suspect we all have if we are over the age of twenty. Even if we aren’t over the age of twenty yet, we may have had time to do some damage.

Chris tells in his piece today of his own near suicide. I have never been quite so close to suicide, but I am sad to say that I have thought of it before. Especially since my friend died at 24 in late 2022 of a combination of a suicide attempt followed by fatal medical errors, it has crossed my mind. Suicide grief has a tail that is long, if indefinite. I can see why there are copycat suicides. It seems to open the door to that terrible thought, a door that should remain closed.

I’d never leave Loviefluffy, and no matter what she always kept me here. I never made a plan or anything like that, but once when things got very bad I thought about how easy it would be for me, with no criminal record, to get a gun.

This is not an argument for gun control - far from it. If I thought I could actually defend myself I might get a firearm. As it is, I don’t trust myself with a water gun - that’s how uncoordinated I am! But I have felt very, very bad, bad enough to come closer than I would like to true hopelessness.

Art brings me back. If things ever get bad again, send me straight to the museum.

Just sitting with all the beautiful things of the world reminds me of why I am grateful to be alive, on my ninth life or not.

Thanks to Vishnu, perhaps. He’s as likely to blame as anyone.

If Arday is indeed dead, I wish him peaceful rest, and peace for his family and friends. That won’t be easy, to be sure. But I hope that if he is not dead, he finds his way to an art museum and remembers how beautiful life is, beyond whatever our personal failings may be.

If anyone out there is struggling and needs some art and company, tell me when and I’ll meet you there.