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Impressionists
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Let us shun self-analyzation, self-consciousness, morbidness, affectation, attitudinizing. Let us look ahead as little as possible, keeping our eyes on our brushes and on the world of beauty around us. |
Sunday, August 29, 1999
One year ago: INFJAG
Beep! Beeep! Beeeep! After I spent a slightly queasy night (the gyro-style pizza might have been a bit too rich) we woke up at a quarter to four in the morning. Why such an unearthly hour? So that we could get to the Impressionism exhibit in Seattle! As we set off, Jack only asked me a few times if I was sure I had the tickets we'd bought via horrible Ticketmaster yesterday. They were in my purse, of course!
Jack felt the luxury of driving on an almost-empty highway. As we left Bellingham, there was not another vehicle around us! Traffic built up gradually as we drove south, but of course it was never bad, and we made good time all the way to downtown Seattle. We parked on the street, a block away, and we were in.
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We had tickets showing a six AM entry time. The show had been open all night, because this was the last weekend. We'd tried to get in a few weeks ago, but hadn't gotten tickets ahead of time so we aborted that mission. Today we were all set -- except for the fact that people using the educational headsets all night meant that the batteries were worn down, and no audio tracks were available for us to elevate ourselves with.
No matter! We went in (and even at this hour there were quite a few people) and made do with the little text items on the wall. They'd grouped the paintings sensibly. There were many different artists, and from the entire Impressionist period, but they were roughly arranged by subject matter: portraits, rural landscapes, the city.
Jack has a new favorite Impressionist painter: Caillebotte! He was bowled over by The Europe Bridge (or see this large image), which was one of the largest paintings in the show.
I think I most preferred Berthe Morisot, whom I hadn't known of before. (The female impressionist most people have seen is Mary Cassat.)
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After breakfast (and we had to try several spots to find a place that was open at eight AM on a Sunday), we went to my place to nap. I do like sharing a bed with Jack; sleeping together is so companionable! I remember in Lord Valentine's Castle (a novel by Robert Silverberg), the hero and a dream counselor lay down together on a sleep journey, so she could sort out his dreams. I feel like that when we are sleeping together, not that we are reading each other's thoughts, but that the sleep is something we do together.
After some hours, Jack returned to the north country. I'll see him this next weekend -- he's going to drive me back to his parents' place to get my car, which should be better than it's been in years.
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