There is that moment when you connect with a piece of artwork, be it music or dance or sculpture or a painting or photograph, when you are suddenly overcome with a sense that you are understood, at least by one other member of humanity.
Central Park was leafy perfection on Saturday afternoon. I steered TC in the direction of the southern corner of the Great Meadow, where he took a long nap while I sketched my favorite statue, "Indian Hunter" by John Quincy Adams Ward. New York City so full of good art, but this is the piece that grabs my heart and makes me catch my breath every time I see it. It is quintessentially american, made in a time when most of this country was a wilderness. It depicts a Lakota Indian boy, hunting with his dog.