Dear New Orleans Museum of Art,

I love you. I love almost everything about you, including but not limited to:

- The three (good!) poems I wrote tonight at your poetry workshop.
- The four vanitas paintings, i.e. my favourite random little subdivision of art ever, that I did not even know you possessed!
- The painting I thought was a crap pseudo Cezanne until I got closer and realized it was a Monet. Well, it's a good thing I have no burning desire to be an art authenticator.
- The really, genuinely excellent exhibit called 'Photography and Depression.' New Orleans readers, go check it out - each photo is like a glancing blow; their effects accumulate and you walk out a little weak, a little shaken.
- The frankly just nifty collection of modern glass.
- A surprising proportion of your modern paintings and sculptures - now I want to learn about Radcliffe Bailey and Chakala Booker.
- The perfectly charming, slightly tubby child with whom I discussed the unpacking of history and meaning from densely layered images.
- A painting I saw once this summer - a wonderfully icy and angular treatment of, of all things, a rose - usually (in my admittedly limited experience) a boringly lush soft romantic image.

If I ever come in to pots of money, I will give you some.

Bisoux,

Julia