There are some places in the world that you can feel have been loved. Loved in a real and tangible way, so much so that they take on a life of their own. They have a distinct and rather giving personality. Or at least this was the case with Giverny, Monet's home and inspiration just about an hour's train ride from Paris. The moment you walk into the gardens, you can see why he wanted to paint this place over and over and over again. It was so easy to imagine him with his easel and paints working early in the morning and then walking up to the house to eat breakfast with his family in his yellow dining room or blue and white tiled kitchen. This was the perfect long weekend day trip.
This was one of my favorite trees there. I sat on a bench under it's sprawling, flowering branches and soaked in the creative energy (maybe this sort of attitude came from being practically intoxicated by the sunshine and the fact that I didn't have to go to class for three whole days)
Although it may seem incongruous, the more I thought about these ladies in their kimonos the more I thought Monet would approve. It was like they were honoring the fact that he loved their culture so much that he filled his home with Japanese artwork and used it as inspiration for his compositions. Plus, they were just fun to watch from under my flowering tree, they'd shuffle about and talk to each other about flowers and whatnot.
What can I even say? I was walking a little shaded path towards le jardin d'eau and was given this enchanted view.
I'm not concerned, I'm just taking in the general perfection of the water lily pond. And I may have had a bit of star struckedness going on too. I mean this is a famous pond that I love without ever have actually seen it.
The. Pond. Makes you want to paint it, huh? But having little or no painterly ability, I stuck to writing and daydreaming about reading poetry (probably Walk Whitman's
Leaves of Grass, mostly because it's one of the earthiest poems I know . . .that I enjoy too) on a quilt in the grass. The poetry is possible and the quilt is a bit difficult but doable, but the grass. . .the grass is an impossibility seeing as all the pelouse est interdit at Giverny.
This was one of my favorite trees there. I sat on a bench under it's sprawling, flowering branches and soaked in the creative energy (maybe this sort of attitude came from being practically intoxicated by the sunshine and the fact that I didn't have to go to class for three whole days)
Although it may seem incongruous, the more I thought about these ladies in their kimonos the more I thought Monet would approve. It was like they were honoring the fact that he loved their culture so much that he filled his home with Japanese artwork and used it as inspiration for his compositions. Plus, they were just fun to watch from under my flowering tree, they'd shuffle about and talk to each other about flowers and whatnot.
What can I even say? I was walking a little shaded path towards le jardin d'eau and was given this enchanted view.
I'm not concerned, I'm just taking in the general perfection of the water lily pond. And I may have had a bit of star struckedness going on too. I mean this is a famous pond that I love without ever have actually seen it.
The. Pond. Makes you want to paint it, huh? But having little or no painterly ability, I stuck to writing and daydreaming about reading poetry (probably Walk Whitman's Leaves of Grass, mostly because it's one of the earthiest poems I know . . .that I enjoy too) on a quilt in the grass. The poetry is possible and the quilt is a bit difficult but doable, but the grass. . .the grass is an impossibility seeing as all the pelouse est interdit at Giverny.
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