They had come on a quiet day in the middle of the week, which meant that the Honolulu Museum of Art was nearly empty. As they walked the labyrinthine villa that made up the museum’s sprawling campus, Dania and Eleanor walked close together, in an agoraphobic bond.
“I thought there would be more art by Hawaiian artists here,” Gwen muttered, passing another room of Japanese block prints.
“Why?” Eleanor asked. “It’s not like the Art Institute has a section dedicated to Chicago artists.”