I am back in St. Louis again.
Today I visit the St. Louis Art Museum (SLAM). I take exit 1E right off interstate I-170. It takes me past the famous Washington University, toward Forest Park, the site of the 1904 World’s Fair Pavilion. I arrive at the art museum hungry, so I go straight to the restaurant, and order a grilled pimiento cheese that comes with grilled Ozark Forest mushrooms. It is quite a pretentious little sandwich with its mushrooms from the Ozarks, not at all like the grilled cheese sandwiches I make at home, but it delights.
After lunch, I make my way through the European art, spending most of my time with the Impressionists. There is one little girl in Gallery 217 that raptures the mind. She stands, never needing to rest. She is a dancer. Dancing is what she does after the museum closes. She endures the gawking of the visitors by day, but at closing time, she begins with a grand jeté right off her dais. One twirl, then another—a pirouette on one foot—lands her right in front of Monet’s Water Lilies. She greets the Monet in French. Who doesn’t?
She saunters on the tips of her pointe shoes with silk laces to the colorful Vincent van Gogh signed with a crimson “Vincent.” She bows in reverence with a plié. The music changes to pas de deux; she asks Vincent to dance. He politely declines. The ballerina is unfazed. Off she goes in search of others to delight.
She is the creation of Edgar Degas. He named her Little Dancer of Fourteen Years.
It is night in St. Louis, and the little girl dances still.
You really must come see her. She beckons to you.