When I was a kid, my parents took me to a lot of museums. They hoped I’d develop a lifelong love for the profoundness of art, as they had. They’d stop at every painting, sculpture and artifact to soak in its meaning and explain to me its significance and relevance to history and culture. I’d secretly be more interested in the intricacies of the flooring and the walls behind the exhibits, failing to experience what I was supposed to be impressed by.