The last piece of art I saw on my visit was Yellow Curve by Ellsworth Kelly. It’s exactly what it sounds like — a gigantic yellow curve made out of a kind of plywood and laid out gracefully on the floor. I loved it. I struck up a conversation with the young docent, who, like all the workers at Glenstone, was friendly and very knowledgable. I told her I had grown up just down the road and that my father did paintings about stuff we did growing up. Excitedly, she asked if I had any on my phone. I do. I pulled up the one of the backyard with mom sunbathing.

She absolutely loved it, and started telling me about what she, an educated art student, saw in the work — perspective, light, colors form the Kennedy era, and the female form depicted tastefully as art. I found myself putting hand to my heart. The docent is originally from San Francisco. A young woman, she has dark hair with some red in it. She confirmed when I asked that she was interested in both art and punk rock.

Here we were, two people undoubtedly on separate sides of the issues tearing American apart. Yet in this sacred space we were agreeing on the fundamentals — art, family, love, and how they connect us to something greater. I cannot give up on the country after that.