Personal Narrative: How Meeting Vincent Van Gogh Changed My Life

Meeting Vincent van Gogh changed my life.
At least that’s what I tell people when I describe falling in love with museums. I was twelve years old, visiting the Detroit Institute of Arts with my grandparents, when I locked eyes with van Gogh’s 1887 Self Portrait. I experienced a profound connection with history at that moment: although van Gogh had been dead for over a century, here we were, face to face. When I reported back to my classmates at the beginning of the following school year, I could not believe they saw trips to museums as a chore. I could not define it then, I know now my desire to recreate my experience in a way others could understand was the first step towards a museum career.
Although I spent as much time as possible in museums
Ford Presidential Museum under Mr. James Draper. My work was entirely collections driven: I learned how to handle artifacts to National Archives and Records Administration standards on my first day and spent every day thereafter condition reporting, writing artifact descriptions and highlights, and crafting archival safe enclosures for items in storage. My experience at the Ford Museum exposed me to the necessities of cataloging, preserving, and maintaining a collection both in and out of storage, and I had a natural affinity for the work. My gut told me I loved visiting museums, while my studies showed that I had the skills to academically shine. It was not until the Ford Museum, however, that I realized how wholeheartedly I belonged in the museum community. When I returned to the Ford Museum to tour the exhibits I had helped build, my heart burst with pride; I was a steward of history, preserving it for future generations. I had left my mark. And I had done it without bitterness at accepting an unpaid position on top of school and another full-time job; I had enjoyed myself so thoroughly that it was not until several months after my internship that I realized how little time to myself I had that