I’m on my own Tuesday morning in NYC, while Dawn is in training. So I’m off to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I ride the subway from Grand Central to 86th Street, on the 4 Express. Stops only at 59th Street in between. I ride on car 1185, part of the R142 order built by Bombardier for the IRT from 2002 to 2003, replacing the old Redbird fleet from 1958. There are exits at the 86th Street station out to both the east and west sides of Lexington, but there’s a helpful sheet of paper taped to the wall telling me which way to go.

I get to the museum around ten and have to check my backpack. I wait around until ten-fifteen for the free introductory tour. Takes about an hour, making our way from ancient Greece to Rome to 18th century Africa to America 1928 (Demuth’s Figure 5 in Gold) back to 18th century France to 14th century Germany to 16th century Spain back to 18th century France again and finally to Vermeer’s Young Woman with a Water Pitcher from 1661 or so. That’s quite an hour, don’t you think?

I dig all of it, even the Demuth modern piece. I ask the docent a question at the first piece, just about where this particular frieze would have been, like in a house or a public building. Why would someone have made it, I wonder. Who would have wanted it for what purpose? Artistic? Religious? Both? She seems kinda annoyed at me for interrupting her flow, so I keep generally quiet for the rest of the tour. Except at the Demuth when she says that there’s more modern stuff upstairs or somewhere in the museum, including “Julian Hirst’s shark.”

“Julian or Damian?” I ask.

She admits that it’s Damian, although this clearly hasn’t endeared me any more to her either.

On my own for a couple of hours I go looking for some objects that Helena has suggested. On my way out from the Vermeer I notice the one Botticelli that they’ve got here, so I stop at that for a while. It’s The Last Communion of St. Jerome.

The scene depicted takes place in St. Jerome’s bedroom cell where he spent the last decades of his life. If the info plaque didn’t tell me this, I’d have figured that this was in a church. What looks to be like an altar, with palms and crucifix above, is in fact St. Jerome’s bed. I suppose maybe I shouldn’t have mistaken the bedspread for the altar cloth, in that the former here seems to be some sort of fur or animal skin whereas the latter is generally just plain white.

The cell itself is a strangely abstracted place, in that from our vantage point it looks like a three-sided building somewhere outside. The sky seen above the roof and through the windows is solid blue, cloudless, and we see no other landscape features. It’s almost like the whole room is suspended in mid-air. Maybe that helps to enforce the idea of this being the last communion of St. Jerome, like he’s almost already on his way. He’s already no longer of this earth, maybe not quite in heaven yet but clearly on his way there.

There are six figures in the room, St. Jerome included. There are three on each side, facing each other, at the foot of the bed. St. Jerome himself is middle right, facing the priest at middle left, who is holding the communion wafer in his right hand, just about ready to place it on St. Jerome’s tongue. Each man is being assisted, St. Jerome being physically supported by two monks, the priest attended by two altar boys.

Generally the figures are all facing each other, with their bodies turned slightly towards us, so not quite facing but not quite profile. Three-quarters turned maybe. Or perhaps the ballet croisé. St. Jerome’s face is in direct profile, as is the face of the altar boy directly across from him. The priest’s face is almost, just almost, in profile, except for a slight tilt of his head, where we can see the underside of his chin. The tilt really conveys a lot of sympathy towards the saint.

The monk whose head the priest’s head almost touches also looks very concerned about St. Jerome. The other monk on the other side of St. Jerome looks less so, but he is the one clutching him tightly, holding him up. The altar boy further away seems to gaze up at his candle, distracted, lost in some other thoughts. The nearer altar boy, the one in profile, seems very interested. He’s almost up on his toes, gazing over the priest’s shoulder, trying to see what’s going on. He seems much more curious than concerned.

St. Jerome himself appears to be focussed on nothing. He is on his knees, hands clasped in front of him in prayer, mouth open to receive communion. But as he looks straight ahead, he doesn’t seem to be seeing the priest or the altar boys. Perhaps he’s looking inward. Again, like the scene itself, he’s no longer really here among us. He’s on his way already.

The frame itself is a work of art too. It’s heavily gilded, but the gilding is fading, so that it now looks like orange marmalade. And above the painting the frame is arched, and there’s a separate scene painted in there as well. God on his throne, surrounded by angels and cherubim. These are true cherubim in the sense that they’re little children heads with wings, no fat little bodies attached. They’re frankly disturbing, is what they are. The angels are lovely though. What’s most interesting is the crucified Christ that God holds, between his knees like a cello.

The Last Communion of St. Jerome, early 1490s, Botticelli (Alessandro di Mariano Filipepi) (Italian, Florentine, 1444/45–1510), Tempera and gold on wood; 13 1/2 x 10 in. (34.3 x 25.4 cm), Bequest of Benjamin Altman, 1913 (14.40.642).