Dear Ms. Lonely Arts: reviving wonder, places to sit, and art for grieving

When you’re feeling glum or lonely or uninspired, what do you do? When everything seems bleak, what do you reach for? I’ve always turned to museums for cheer and companionship, creativity, or quiet. And I think you should too.

Here’s how it works: Maybe you’re trying to plan an uplifting Brooklyn day with your family and you’re not sure where to start. Maybe you’re unlucky in love. Maybe you hate your job or your in-laws or the state of the world. Maybe you just need a dose of inspiration. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Send your questions to yo@brooklynmuseum.org, starting your subject line with “ADVICE.” I’ll do my best to recommend something just for you.

Below, you’ll find suggestions for the latest batch of advice seekers. And if you missed them, check out previous burning questions I’ve answered. Letters have been lightly edited for clarity and concision.

Dear 5pointz,

I love this question. I often find myself wondering the same thing. For all I got wrong as a teenager (wearing dresses over jeans, anyone?), there was an openness in my approach to art and the world that I sorely miss now.

Here’s my best advice: Go back to the museum. Try to see it through the eyes of your younger self. What would you have gravitated toward? Be earnest in your interest.

You said you’re a stepdad. Perhaps you and your stepchild(ren) could make the trip together. Corny as it sounds, returning to a place or a piece of art with someone who’s seeing it for the first time might make it come alive again.

Our exhibition Breaking the Mold: Brooklyn Museum at 200 features a remarkable array of artworks, from ceramics to vibrant contemporary paintings to photographs of Coney Island. Together they tell the story of how the Museum built its collection—a story of people caring about art, like you do.

Something else that might help is hearing artists talk about their work. When you’re in the room with that kind of creativity, your own passion might be ignited.

Warmly,

Ms. Lonely Arts

Dear Sad Soul,

I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. Fifty-five years—what a beautiful friendship that must be. This is an incredibly difficult situation, and I know there are no words I can offer to make it better.

Instead, I offer you Thomas Cole’s A Pic-Nic Party (on view in the Visible Storage and Study Center on the fifth floor). One of my personal favorites, it instills in me a quiet sense of joy, of calm, of nostalgia. The painting was created in 1846, when outdoor leisure activities were gaining popularity. It’s a work that rewards careful study; there are so many details to discover.

In particular, I’d like to call your attention to the figure with the guitar. He is believed to be Cornelius Ver Bryck, a friend of the artist’s who died two years before the painting was completed. Incorporating Ver Bryck into this gorgeous scene was Cole’s way of remembering him.

There are some bonds that last and last. Almost 200 years later, and we’re still thinking about these two friends.

Ever yours,

Ms. Lonely Arts

Dear Neighbor,

I’m elated that we’re so close, and I’m sorry that your back is troubling you. Our teams aim to make exhibitions as accessible as possible—including with in-gallery seating. We’ve marked up a Museum map especially for you; purple stars indicate benches.

As you’ll see, our first-floor Café has ample seating . . . and pretty great cookies, if you’re so inclined! On the second floor, there’s a spot where you can rest and enjoy a case of Islamic ceramics. In the fifth-floor American Art galleries, there’s a section called “Several Seats,” where you can settle in and gaze at seated portraits. Elevators are available to take you to each stop.

See you around the galleries,

Ms. Lonely Arts