Sometimes an average week of work, bills, news, and maintaining a home nearly suitable for a self-respecting human can leave us feeling a little blue—dare I say hopeless. Sometimes it helps to shut your brain off and look at something beautiful. When life imitates bad art, seek out good art. Here are some great places around town to take your mind off whatever’s bringing you down.

Untitled (Big Man) by Ron Mueck, The Hirshhorn

You know that feeling when you’re in little-black-raincloud mode and your optimist friend who annoyingly keeps trying to make you feel better, like some kind of good friend who loves you? Resist the urge to smack them right upside the noggin while growling, “Silver lining THIS!” Instead, take a deep breath and pay a visit to the patron saint of grumpy. He suffers no fools, his side eye is legendary, and he doesn’t even care that his nether bits are on full display. He is the physical manifestation of feeling totally, hopelessly bummed. Pay him respects by telling him, “Same, my dude, same.”

The Drummer by Barry Flanagan, The Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden

After you’ve groused with the grump, walk outside to the sculpture garden and behold The Drummer. Your worries and fears will be replaced by thoughts like, “Why?” “How?” and “What does it want from us?” This surreal musical rabbit reminds us that life is occasionally very, very weird. Sometimes, when the wiggly-legged bunny of absurdity wobbles into your life, beating its drum and causing a scene, it’s best to just laugh and move on.

Blind Whino (Southwest Arts Club)

You may feel as though you followed that rabbit sculpture straight to Wonderland upon seeing the technicolor top of Blind Whino peeping over the trees of Southwest D.C. Formerly the Friendship Baptist Church, this local art center is home to a graffiti-covered event space, a gallery of local projects, and an urban farm. Blind Whino is a reminder that even when it seems all hope is lost, good things still exist, such as a community arts center that uplifts local talent and vegetables in a rainbow church. Escape from reality (weekends noon to 5 p.m., Wednesdays 5 to 8 p.m.) and explore this simultaneously shadowy and vibrant space.

The third floor at The National Museum of Women in the Arts

Despite my lobbying, the museum has not renamed this one particular corner of the third floor The Chapel of Bomb Women. But that is what this section of the museum feels like—a sacred space to reflect on the Divine Feminine. You don’t have to identify as female to feel the raw power that radiates from works by Frida Kahlo, Amy Sherald, and Jane Hammond. Sit quietly with Frida’s political self portrait, Sherald’s exploration of race and identity, and Hammond’s whimsical re-imagining of “self;” then walk towards the back of the gallery and behold Kiki Kogelnik’s Superwoman. Take the power stance of your choosing. Imagine she’s telling you to buck up. Feel her power and make it your own.

Many Voices, Many Beats, One City, by Cory Stowers, MuralsDC, Anacostia

Feeling hopeless while listening to go-go is scientifically impossible. Don’t @ me until you’ve listened to Chuck Brown’s song “Beautiful Life” and taken in this mural adjacent to the two thousand block of Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue, SE. This tribute to the titans of go-go celebrates music made to bring people together to forget their worries and dance. Still feeling distinctly un-funky? I dare you to listen to the live recording of Chuck Brown’s 2001 concert at the 9:30 Club without shimmying at least once.

Yoko Ono and Mr. Brainwash murals, Union Market

Go ahead and roll your eyes. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, use those pretentious peepers to read the messages from Yoko Ono and L.A. street artist Mr. Brainwash. I know you’ve seen them all over Instagram for the last year, but say the words out loud like a mantra and let them seep into your tired mind. According to the museum, Ono created her piece with the hope that it would shake us free from the things that weigh us down every day and let our hearts guide the way.

Take your doughnut, bagel, or crepe (I hope you didn’t go to Union Market for anything less than hot carbs) and sit on the curb facing this art until you’ve manually overridden the sad, grey carousel of hopeless thoughts.

And go ahead, take a selfie in front of Mr. Brainwash’s hearts, I know you want to.

Spider by Louise Bourgeois, National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden

Just kidding.

Volume (Renwick) by Leo Villareal, Renwick Gallery

The sparkling lights that greet visitors to the Renwick are the visual manifestation of code written by the artist himself. The algorithm ensures that the lighting sequence will never repeat exactly as before; the entire space illuminates and darkens at random, entracing quieted spectators. The mirrored rods reflect more than LEDs. In life, we never know how long periods

of light or of darkness will last: The only recourse is to enjoy the light, wait for the darkness to pass, and look for beauty in the in-between.

The Entrance to the Paris Metropolitain by Hector Guimard, National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden

The original Parisian metro entry is the perfect place to sit fully in your ennui. Indulge in a pastry or four (Why not? We’re all going to die anyway). Listen to Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin’s album while glowering as sexily as you can after eating all of those pastries. Read the French existentialist of your choosing and laugh wryly at the backwards goat circus we call life. Contemplate getting a cat, which might actually help.

The Space Window by Rodney Winfield, The National Cathedral

Nothing makes our earthly woes feel more insignificant than the infinity of the universe. Let the gothic architecture, quiet environment, and historical gravitas of the National Cathedral make you feel tiny in a good way while you gaze upon this outer space-themed stained glass window. Look for the little stone at the center of the red planet: That’s a piece of moon rock composed of basalt and pyroxferroite, a previously unknown mineral. When you stop and think about the vastness of the unknown, it’s a little easier to imagine better days may be closer than you realize.