Like most museums in France and elsewhere, the Musée d’arts de Nantes offers free admission on Thursdays nights from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m.

And like every year, I put it on my must-go list—it’s a short twenty-minute walk from my mum’s place and a fun late-evening activity, especially for Mark who loves museums.

I know Nantes’ art museum very well, the only fresh material is usually the temporary exhibition in the big Salle Blanche.

I always enjoy admiring a few specific paintings—Kandinsky, Delacroix, Monet and Courbet are among my favourites—but I’m mostly looking forward to the whole museum experience.

And for me, this experience starts with the building itself. The galleries are gorgeous with very high ceilings, fancy wood flooring, and sophisticated lighting—classic but not stuffy. I love the way the stage is set to highlight textures, reveal colours, and tell stories.

I also enjoy taking pictures of people at the museum. It’s interesting to watch visitors wander around and suddenly stop in front of a painting or a sculpture. Why this one over all the others in the collection? The colours, the composition, the scene? No one knows, not even the visitor most of the time. They almost look surprised something caught their eye, so they study the artwork carefully and try to figure out how it made them feel, and why.

I let my mind wander as I’m wandering around, taking pictures of other wanderers, admiring works of artists who immortalized their own wonderlands or wonderment about life and the world. Why do most museums offer free admission on Thursdays? Was it decided at some museum convention a long time ago? What kept artists busy in non-Christian cultures? Half of the museums in Europe and in the Americas are full of paintings portraying Jesus and the gang of 12, but two-thirds of the population doesn’t go with the story of a dude pinned on a cross—so what inspired artists?

“Mommy, I found Picasso! Just like the magnet on the fridge! Is it real?”

“Yes, Mark, it’s a genuine Picasso.”

But instead of being inspired by timeless art, Mark is now asking to see “pictures of me when I was young.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to prepare myself for the fact that my son is about to discover I was an awkward teen with questionable clothing choices throughout the 1990s and possibly beyond—which shouldn’t matter since he just made me feel like a senior citizen.