The museum brought in this actual doorway, part of what looks like facade of a castle
It's got arches and columns and bas-relief and those large stone pieces that look like exaggerated bricks
At the top are some gargoyle-looking things, looking down
There's this big wooden door, aged and, in some places, bleached
It's got these ornate metal bands on it, spiraling and curling to, perhaps, provide reinforcement
There's this giant locking mechanism with this keyhole that's big enough to accomodate two or three pencils
My first (verbalized) impression of this was: 

"I'm just perplexed by its sheer enormity" 

(I did say this)
I think what gets me is the fact that despite its ornateness and its ancientness, the door isn't very big at all
Actually, it's pretty small by today's standards
I guess, for some reason, I wanted the door to be huge, of epic proportions
Of at least, historic proportions
But it isn't

It was just big enough to allow regular people passage
Like it's supposed to do
Maybe I wanted this because of the history I've learned
All history books filter out the common, quotidian aspects of the past and zero in on the big 
headliners and drastic stuff, 
leaving us to believe that history is nothing but those 
big headliners and drastic stuff

My view of history is skewed.

a writing assignment from en202, my one creative writing class at bu. the task here was to go to the mfa and describe an exhibit and what it moves in you.

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