Why I Chose This Path
Growing up immersed in the world of Renaissance paintings and contemporary installations, you wouldn’t think I’d end up writing about love, heartbreak, and romantic conundrums. I mean, my childhood was more Picasso than pop culture and more opera than rom-coms. But somewhere between sipping champagne at gallery openings and whispering art history trivia under the vaulted ceilings of the Louvre, I realized something: the themes that make great art—connection, longing, vulnerability—are the very things that make relationships a masterpiece. And who wouldn’t want to be the curator of their own love story?
Turns out, the parallels between museums and modern romance are more uncanny than I once imagined. Both require interpretation, patience, and a firm “no touching” policy... unless invited, of course.
So, why this path? Why write about relationships instead of staying safely tucked in the rarefied world of brushstrokes and marble sculptures? It all began with a realization that love is its own kind of art—and a very messy one at that.
Love as Art—and Messy Interpretation
Art, much like dating, is open to wild and sometimes questionable interpretations. You could be gazing lovingly at a Rothko while the person next to you grumbles, “It’s just a red square.” Similarly, you could be on a fantastic date, thinking they’re your soulmate, while they’re texting their ex under the table. Perspective is everything.
My years studying and working in art taught me that nothing we value—whether it’s love or a priceless piece of sculpture—comes with a straightforward “how to” manual. You learn by observing, studying patterns, and occasionally making mistakes so big they feel as permanent as spilled coffee on a museum catalog. Relationships, like art, don’t always make sense, but they don’t have to. What matters is what they mean to you and the story they tell about who you are as a person.
Sure, I could’ve stayed in my lane, writing think-pieces on Cubism or debating the merits of Jeff Koons with art critics over espresso. But I was more intrigued by love in all its raw, unpolished glory—think less Botticelli’s “Venus” and more a toddler’s finger painting. Writing about relationships has been my way of asking questions like, “What makes us share parts of ourselves with someone else?” Or, “Why do we even risk rejection in the first place?” These are things every human wrestles with at some point—whether you’re on your first date or celebrating your 40th anniversary—and unpacking them has become my life’s work.
My First (and Worst) Curatorial Experience: Romance Edition
Let me rewind to my first attempt at curating anything “romantic.” I was 15, hopelessly awkward, and trying to charm a guy in my French lit class by casually name-dropping Monet’s “Water Lilies” (spoiler: it didn’t work). He politely listened, then said, “That’s cool, but I’m more of a Monet-the-rapper fan.” I’m still not entirely sure he wasn’t pranking me, but needless to say, our interests failed to align.
That failed attempt at flirting stuck with me, though not in the embarrassing, bury-it-in-your-memory-forever way you might expect. Instead, it forced me to rethink the “exhibits” of myself I was curating for the world. I was working so hard to seem cultured, smart, and put-together that I forgot to be something else entirely—genuine.
It was then I realized how much dating—and relationships in general—are about authenticity. Forget being the perfectly polished gallery version of yourself. People want the behind-the-scenes view of your life: the unfinished sketches, the discarded drafts, the paint-streaked hands after a long day of trying. (Metaphorically, of course, unless you literally have paint-streaked hands—in which case, good for you.)
Relationship Lessons From Museum Life
Before I traded in museum plaques for writing deadlines, I spent years working with priceless art collections. And if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that taking care of art isn’t all that different from taking care of relationships. Here are a few lessons I regularly revisit:
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Every Masterpiece Needs Maintenance.
You don’t hang a painting in a gallery and then walk away forever—even the best art needs regular care. The same goes for relationships. You can’t set things on autopilot and expect them to thrive. Communication is your metaphorical conservation team, and without it, even the most stunning love affair will crack under pressure. -
It’s Not Always About Perfection.
Not every piece in a museum’s collection is flawless. Some have cracks, discoloration, or missing brushstrokes—but those imperfections are part of their story. Why should we expect perfection in our relationships—or ourselves—for that matter? Embracing imperfection means finding beauty where others might not think to look. -
Context Is Everything.
A single piece of art can change depending on the setting. (Ever seen a moody painting suddenly come alive in better lighting?) People are the same way. Before jumping to conclusions about a bad date or a partner’s bad day, ask yourself: Is this moment really them, or is it just the setting? Maybe they’re nervous, overwhelmed by work, or dealing with something you can’t see yet.
Finding My Why: Stories That Connect Us
These days, I like to think of myself as a kind of translator—someone who bridges the gap between the high-concept world I grew up in and the wonderfully messy lives we all lead. Writing about relationships has allowed me to combine my love of storytelling with my innate fascination with the human condition. It’s where curiosity meets compassion.
Plus, I’ve always been drawn to connection in all its forms. Whether it’s standing before a sculpture or sitting across from someone on a date, there’s always this element of risk—the hope that you’ll see something profound and the fear that it might fall flat. How honest we are in those moments, how much of ourselves we’re willing to show, determines the depth of what’s possible. With art, we curate galleries; with relationships, we curate experiences. Both are meaningful, revealing reflections of who we are.
What I love most about this work—about writing articles like this one—is that it’s an opportunity to empower readers. Relationships are as diverse and interpretive as any art collection, and there’s no one “right” way to approach them. But what matters most is how you feel when you walk through the gallery of your own heart. Is it cluttered with outdated exhibits? Have you forgotten to make room for new displays? Or does it feel like home, filled with pieces that tell your story, flaws and all?
The Takeaway: Your Life, Your Masterpiece
Ultimately, I chose this path not because I had to trade Degas for dating advice, but because both are about fostering connection. Art might capture the essence of humanity, but relationships make us live it. And like any process worth pursuing, love involves trial and error, patience, and a willingness to embrace the unknown.
So, let your love life be bold, experimental, even avant-garde. Swap the polished portrait for a messy collage if that’s what feels true to you. Most importantly, let it be yours. After all, even the most celebrated artists had their doubts, their failures—and their masterpieces.
