@Fil Albuquerque,
(See George and Roberta above)
I remember going through the main gallery in the city of Lucca, Italy; I forget the name of it, a city or state type gallery. I was the only visitor, some time on some day in April, and the only apparent employee showed me around. Very well dressed employee: I vaguely remember liking her rose colored suit, which of course I didn't mention. I wore my usual many times washed black Travel Suit, boring as all get out but not completely horrible as travel clothes go. It was something like my twentieth day wearing it, as I travel light, just a duffle bag and biggish purse. As usual, I spoke poor italian but could convey basic concepts, and she spoke, as usual, a bit better english than my italian.
Outside in the garden, it was beautiful, and wonderful statues lined the passageway to the main entry. Inside, I remember a zillion portraits, or so it seemed.
We came to a painting I actually liked (I can like portraits, just not particularly those that day). This last painting had several people in it, and I was fixed on how expressive the arm and hand placements were, fairly formal and not especially obvious, but tying the portrait sitters together by touch or gesture or just a finger showing up. Then I tried to convey that in italian.. and english.. and pointing.. and gesturing.
She probably thought I was nuts, or maybe "simple".
Thing is, nearly twenty years later, I remember where the painting was in the room, remember the wave of actually enjoying one of the paintings in that somber sort of room.
Naturally, that was a local collection of likely memorable people in the area, who I might even be interested in if I read up.
