2008

I went out into freezing cold temperatures (18 Fahrenheit) and walked a mile to the nearest metro station. I was dressed  warmly, with scarves and gloves and a down coat, but it was so cold that by the time I reached the metro station, I could no longer feel my legs. My thighs were frozen against my jeans, and later when I went to the restroom at the National Gallery of Art, I noticed they were all red and blotchy. I have not experienced anything like that since I left Michigan twenty-three years ago. After more than a decade of living in the south,  I forgot how cold cold cand be!

 An Introductory Tour of the Early Italian to Early Modern was about to begin, I joined the group.  The guide spoke to us about the techniques used to prepare the tempera paint  which was mixed with egg yolk and usually applied over wooden panels.  Da Vinci, who was such a renaissance man began to use oils, something that he had at least heard about from the Northern European artists.  The National had one Da Vinci on display, Ginerva de Benci. It is stunning. It is said to have been made as a wedding present and the young Ginerva is portrayed on one side and on the other Vinci painted a Laurel branch, a juniper flower, and a quote in Latin about Beauty and Virtue. 

We then went to see Ruben´s grand painting of Daniel in the Lion´s Den, “theatrical” is how the guide described it. Later we stopped to admire Rembrandt´s self-portrait (he was about fifty years old). El Maestro. His wife Saskia was portrayed in a smaller painting which was hung beside the great Master.

Finally, she took us to see one of Monet´s Impressionist paintings of his wife and son out in a field in France. She spoke about the difficulties the Impressionists suffered because their work was shocking for the general public and unacceptable for the Great Salon Exhibitions.

I like the way the light bounces off of everything, giving it form.  Life has been this incredibly long, interesting journey.

Sometimes we say the exact opposite of what we really feel and then “that conversation” sticks out in our head.  Things are usually not black and white and we all get confused by the diversity of grey.

 The clock ticks away. I think I know the size of every day, every minute that I am alive.

Who is obsessed with time? The leaves falling as the sun goes down, the baby crying at dawn. Who punches the clock every day? Who misses the bus then turns around and walks back home? Who grasps the clock just to throw it down again? Who never wants to feel abandoned and always needs to be alone? Kiss me time; lay a hand upon my heart. Remember the years, my friend, stay with me, till death do us part.

Will blood still be thicker than water in the future? Plasticity reigns. And we walk on, one foot in front of the other, day after day, year after year.