A few months ago, I found myself walking the pristine halls of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, or the SFMOMA as it’s known. Prior to the visit, I was quite excited – the SFMOMA, after all, is the home of one of my favorite paintings. I remember entering the gallery where it was featured – with its pristine white walls and tiny labels – and searching for it. I remember finding it, far bigger than I expected yet just as impactful. I remember sitting on a bench and staring at it for what felt like hours but was likely just half of one. And I remember being disappointed, deeply and utterly disappointed.
