When I'm Filthy Rich

A number of years ago, I attended a National Science Foundation's Research Experience for Undergraduates Internship hosted by the Human Technology Interaction Center at the University of Oklahoma (yes, that is a mouthful!). It was an awesome, awesome experience where I was privileged to participate in the execution of cognitive psychology experiments, as well as participate in research for NASA. It was awesome. I spent 8 great weeks in Norman, Oklahoma, in the sweltering humid heat and blazing sun of a Midwestern summer, with the tornado sirens marking random afternoons. It was awesome.

On my last day on the OU campus, I had some spare time to explore the Fred R. Jones Museum of Art. I was excited, because I knew the museum was hosting a travelling Impressionist art exhibit, and that particular Friday was the first opportunity I'd had to visit the museum, so I was looking forward to immersing myself in the work if Impressionist masters. Unfortunately, I was retarded and mis-read the posters for the exhibition, and didn't realize until I had gotten there that the exhibit had not yet opened--I was a week early, and the next day I was to be on a plane back to Idaho. Great. Defeated, I walked around the museum, and enjoyed (begrudgingly at first, since it wasn't what I had gone for) (happily, later) the collection of Eastern Orthodox Icons and an exhibition of artist Tony Scherman's Chasing Napoleon series.

The museum itself is two stories with a basement. At the front of the museum is a bank of gigantic windows that open to all three floors and provides natural light for all three levels. There's a landing at the bottom of the first flight of stairs to the basement, with the final flight perpendicular to the first. I was headed from the Icon Collection down to the Scherman exhibit in the basement. I was walking down the stairs, watching my step so as not to stumble down them and crack my bean at the bottom. I heard a very loud car drive by outside. I was looking up the peer out the giant windows, when I was literally stopped dead in my tracks as my eye caught the massive artwork that engulfed the wall of the landing. It was mesmerizing, and I think it's the closest I've ever come to a Stendhal moment. The harsh Oklahoma sunlight, filtered through the UV coating of the plate glass windows, bathed the painting in a warm, ethereal light. I honestly cannot describe the feeling of seeing that beautiful work for the first time. Even now, eight years later, as I write about it, I'm at a loss for words. It was absolutely stunning. STUNNING. I spent several minutes absorbing the work from a distance, committing the work to memory (alas, no camera). I had never seen such a beautiful photograph and marveled at the massive size of the work (nearly 6.5' square). As I got closer, the focus of the image blurred. I read the placard for the piece and was astounded to discover that it was, in fact, a painting and not an enlarged photograph. I jotted down the artist's name and the painting title (Gerard Richter, Seestück) and resolved that as soon as I got back to my room, I'd search the web for more work by the artist.

I did just that, and was thoroughly annoyed to discover that the artist had painted an entire series of Seestück paintings. Now, these were the early dark days of Google Images, before it got huge. I simply could not find the exact painting I had seen. Since that fateful August day, I have--every six months or so--conducted a Google Images search of "Gerard Richter Seestuck."

In late June, at long last, I believe I finally figured out exactly which Gerard Richter Seestück I had seen. The painting is currently part of the collection at the Modern Art Museum in Fort Worth, Texas. I immediately bugged my friend that lives in Dallas about it, asking him if he ever got down to Fort Worth, and if he ever did, to do me the huge favour of stopping off at the MAM and snagging a photo of the painting. As insane luck would have it, he was taking a SQL bootcamp-type course in Fort Worth and would be within walking distance of the MAM. Holy crap! He's a great friend (truly) and agreed to take some time during his lunch break to go to the museum and take a picture of the painting for me. He's awesome, and he did just that, as well as snag me a 7.5" x 7.5" post card print of it (Phat, you're awesome). Behold, the splendor:
Every time someone asks me what I'd do if I were insanely rich (like, won the $200m+ lotto or something), after I list off the family-focused things like buying houses, paying off debt, etc and then philanthropic enterprises of establishing scholarships and micro-financing etc etc etc etc, I say that I will hunt down and buy the Richter painting. And the painting will have an entire sun-bathed wall all to itself, where I can enjoy it all by myself.