The Kiss

Posted on September 22, 2026

When I was seventeen I put together a 1,000-piece puzzle of a painting by Gustav Klimt. Years later, noticing a coworker pinning up Klimt's prints in her cubicle, I made an official office birthday card with a Klimt painting for her. A few years ago I bought a book on Klimt, barely read it, accidentally got it wet, and sold it for $10.

I had passing familiarity with his work.

So it was a surprise to me when I saw The Kiss in person. I didn't know Klimt had layered it with gold leaf, which made it shimmer as you moved around the room. It was a still image that was alive. Time stopped for the couple in the painting, yet their surroundings continued to meander, oblivious to what was happening between them.

I took a lot of photos. I took videos. I walked in and out of the crowds to look at it from every angle. I left the room and moved on, but found myself stepping back in for one last glimpse. Then I took more photos of it, knowing it would never capture the shimmer, just as thousands of photos of the paintings never had. But I had to try anyway.

I couldn't take anything with me from that room. I could stare, but memories fade.

Writing it down. I have to try.