i am not a hobbit, but adventure found me

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I am the lurking one, the locked-outside-in-the-cold one, the bundled up she-yeti peering in through the windows of Tishman Hall. Adventure was my goal, but I’ve never been able to pass up an opportunity to gawk at art. The last forty-eight hours of sunshine have been disappointing, but if this last-minute snowfall is the prize for waiting, I can forgive the weathermen. Snow melts and clings to my boots, soaking through the leather, hardening my feet into heavy, painful blocks — apparently, an hour of wading through fresh powder is too much for even mink oil to repel. Still, I stay, muddling my way along the damp window, eyeing the various triptych paintings hung within. This isn’t my building, but sometimes I want to lay claim to it, anyway — to hold the potential for creation again, a physical manifestation of months of work. Pausing is not a good idea, for the sake of numb toes and fingertips, but there’s something about these triptychs and the narrative they form, through their use of color and organic matter and deconstruction of shape and line, some of them so lean, so sharp they might slice through this reality, and I am struck. I am in awe. I am also freezing, thin pants, no gloves, and relieved when a friend passes by and lets me inside. “But the door is unlocked.” But it didn’t even occur to me to try. #weeklyassignment #snowfall #tinytruth #cnfgram

A post shared by ☆ 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗮 𝗚. 𝗗𝗼𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘁𝘆☆ (@mgdoherty) on

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