A distinctive feature of the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed Guggenheim Museum is its continuous descending ramp that spirals downward around a central atrium. You ascend via elevator and view the artwork spaced along the outside wall as you descend.
After the elevator ride to the top, I paused to gaze down at the expanse below, then began my slow descent, studying the various works of German and French impressionists, unaware that I was also being studied.
I was a young artist and alongside me now was a woman a bit older than I. One of us struck up the conversation, during which I revealed I was a painter finishing school. She had a Vermeer-like face and an Old World accent, so I was not surprised to learn she was from Denmark.
“I live in a castle, though I use only half of it. It would make a wonderful studio for a painter,” she said as we left the museum.
After hailing a cab: “I’m staying at the Waldorf.”
Jumping in back, she tugged at my arm. “Come! Will you join me?”
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