Oil money, art, and culture

One of the best-kept secrets in Georgetown appears to be the National Gallery of Art, Castellani House. The building comes alive when there are exhibition openings, film screenings, and other rare events that may fill the grounds with sounds and sights. In the middle of the day, however, it is a quiet gem, and a space to escape the busyness and noise of the Georgetown streets because very few enter. The honking horns on Vlissengen Road are barely perceptible when one is lost in the workings of the human mind and heart expressed in painted or sculptural form.

On a recent visit to Castellani House, I encountered a delightful gem. Tucked in a corner of the small first-floor gallery was the portrait of an attentive youngster. The warm golden flecks on his skin gave way to red tones then brown. His head was tilted to his right. I imagined he was keenly observing other boys at play. The sadness of the boy’s eyes and his lips made me wish I could sit and ponder his story. I could not; seating was not there. Nonetheless, there was much more to see and become excited by. I stopped before Walter Gobind’s graphite drawing of pavement dwellers. I looked to learn from his technique but I also looked to be affected by the work. I felt their sadness, heard their exchange, and wondered about their next meal.