I miss the opera. I miss the clapping for 10 minutes at the end of every performance. I miss the plushness of the deep red velvety seats. I miss everyone being focused on the music. I miss the notes wafting up to the very top of the building.
I miss the art. I miss standing in front of a real life art piece; of breathing in its creativity and technique. I miss seeing the individual brush strokes; the impasto. I missing seeing paintings hung on a wall in proper light, seeing them the way they were meant to be seen, versus a text book or a large projection on a classroom wall.
I miss the German chattering.
I miss the slow afternoons meandering down Mariahilferstrasse, of reading for pleasure, of moments of quiet solitude in green parks.
In essence, I miss Vienna.
This would all be thanks to my art professor from last semester, who helped me to remember today that I'm not the only one who has love affairs with artists long dead.
A pond in the Volksgarten
Opera house interior