A Warm Breeze Began to Blow

Today I finished the painting that I have been doing for my Mom, and decided that I would head in to the City. Chicago is beautiful, and while my Mom lives downtown, I hadn't yet taken the time to stroll through the city. It was so warm that I wore no coat, and walked on the shady side of the street to avoid the heat. No jokes, it was 25 degrees Celsius, in November!

The one place that I wanted to see was the Art Gallery, and I have done just that. I had been there once before, so I knew the major attractions, but since then I have been to the major galleries of Europe, and have been instructed in the art of looking at art.

My most interesting moment today happened in the impressionist room, with some cezanne, Monet, Seurat, and Picasso. I was on a seat looking at a cezanne, and it was quietly blowing my mind. Here it is:


The apples are a mess, the wine is uncorked, the clothe is askew, and the table is obviosuly two tables pushed together (follow the line at the back of the table and you will see that the left and right are at different heights, and the table clothe has a crease, which makes one of the apples impossible).

I loved the painting and studied it for about fifteen minutes, before a girl's cell phone wrang. She sat down next to me and spoke for a short time on her cellphone before hanging up. Then she looked right at me and asked "Okay man, what's so hot about this one? You've been sitting here for ever."

I told her what I liked about it, and she seemed really interested. She called some friends over, and made me tell them. Then she took me over to the Monets and asked me why they were masterpieces. It turns out her name is Monet, and her mother had named her after the artist. I explained impressionalism to her and her friends. I showed them about five paintings in all and taught them how to read a painting. It was exhilirating. I think I will do it again right now. Let's do "the Old Guitarist".



He's very old, wiry, his skin is really tight, and he's obviously underfed. His clothing is tattered, and his feet are unshod. There is no cup or hat or anything to collect money, he is not begging or performing for money. His circumstances look very bleak, and yet the music goes on. He is an artist and he must continue playing.

Picasso is an artist with no patron regularly paying him for his work. I think that this work is his way of saying that the artist values the craft above all other things. Very invocative.

So in all I have had a very nice time in Chicago. I did a lot of work, lots of painting, lots of furniture assembly, and lots of time to think about things, pray, soul-search. Nothing like hard work to rejuvenate one's joie de vivre.