Also known as artworks I have seen in person:

I have gawked at the notebook pages and paintings of Leonardo da Vinci.

I have seen the portrait of George Washington.

I have seen Paolo Veronese’s Christ in the House of Levi. 

I have walked underneath the murals of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel.  There, the three-dimensional illusion played with my eyes so much, it felt like the painted characters would fall on me at any moment. 

I have walked around Michelangelo’s David. 

I have seen the works of Titian.

I have seen Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. 

I have bent down and looked at the pages from the Book of Kells at Trinity College.

I have seen Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi.

I have seen a Caravaggio at the National Gallery of Ireland.

I have felt overwhelmed by immense sculpture  of Alexander Calder.

I have marveled at the small canvas of the Raft of the Medusa.

I have seen and adored Cellini’s Perseus Slaying Medusa while I walked through Florence’s center of sculpture. 

I have seen the sweet pastel color scheme of Claude Monet. 

I have seen The Persistence of  Memory by Salvador Dali.  Quite small, yes? 

I have followed the stories of William Hogarth.  Stories that always end in horrible tragedy. 

Am I finished with my pilgrimages?  Not at all.