The Tate, or the Tate Modern to give it its proper title, was an amazing building, one of the few restorations that Judas had warmed to over the years. He came here sometimes to sit on one of the many benches outside and watch the people. Occasionally, he would go in and take in some art. It was hard at first because he had known so many of the artists personally. Some he remembered as being brilliant, warm and generous with their time and conversation, a few he had detested; but it was watching them die that troubled Judas the most. It made him more and more aware of his own life and what he had or had not achieved, and when he gazed into the canvas or studied the form of a sculpture, he admired the beauty and the skill of the artist yet cursed them at the same time because he knew his ow
