Shiva in Your Boots

A(nother) trip to the Met. Before spending forty grueling minutes taking notes about a nineteenth century American dining room chair (ah, I'm so collegiate), Anj (who needed to go for another class) and I looked at some South Asian art. I am kind of floored how so many statues with the same names (Shiva, Buddha, Bodhisattva) can actually be so varied, each inhabiting their own cool grandeur. And the best part of all them is definitely the hands, which are always in some elegant pose. I have an odd habit of trying to mimic the pose the statue is in, as if I'd find out some secret if I knew what it felt like to stand in such a way. Or, in this case, to pose my fingers. Doing this, I glanced over to the class of high schoolers and saw a fifteen year old kid whose pants were in danger of falling to the floor doing the same thing.