Judging me judging them

In the National Gallery of Scotland paintings from the Impressionist period are housed in a smaller exhibition room above the main gallery. It's accessible by a small curved staircase. Arranged on the wall above the staircase a dozen or so marble busts stare blankly as people pass them by. A pantheon of ghosts from a bygone era.

Walking up and down those stairs I felt strangely judged, as though these nameless faces from the past were somehow questioning my right to be there. It seemed a curious inversion that the statues should query the gallery patrons so.

The thought amused me and I moved on.