Today, Annie and I went to the Brandywine River Museum. Through all of the art, I decided that the only art I really appreciate are pieces that tell a story, have a story, or emotionally relate to me. Three pieces stuck out to me. The first we came along was, "Main Line," by Weymouth. It's an unfinished piece about a love story that caused significant controversy. The reason it is unfinished is because the woman died during painting, and the husband could not bear to pose again. Even though the entire time I ranted about hating Jamie Wyeth and his trite subject matter and blasé style, his painting "A Very Small Dog" is the postcard that I walked away with. Finally, the third piece of art that struck me was one of personal relevance. Its title is "Indian Summer," important for two reasons. First, I love summer. Second, this year will not be an Indian Summer for me, as everything it represents will end August 21st. Still, the things I've done this summer have crammed more meaningful activity and thoughts and emotions than any three months on record. In that, it will last longer in my mind. As for content, it's a very empty piece, depicting a nude blonde facing into the woods away from the viewer, who maybe possibly could be me. She is so comfortable in her vulnerability, looking into a vast and adventurous unknown.