Early the first morning in Paris Jean had to work. I was headed out the lobby of the hotel when my lovely spouse caught up to me. She wanted me to meet the delegates of the NRC group. Among them was Jim and Susan. Jim was the lead for Jean's mission here in France and he had brought his wife Susan with him for a vacation. Susan and I decided to meet later to go view the Louvre there in Paris. After breakfast we headed out and caught the subway #1 to the museum. It is an amazing place, equally amazing for the art it holds, as well as the building that houses the works. I walked the halls in reverence for the craftsman that had constructed its marble columns, arched and painted ceilings, etc. We saw the Mona Lisa along with several hundred others. It is a painting that is said to have redefined art in it's day. Davinci captured a depth of perspective and color that still has millions of people flocking to see the smiling lady every year.
I mentioned that the title of this was "In search of the real Claud Monet". Thats because as much as I enjoyed the louvre I am not really a museum gower. like many people I have a short attention span and quickly get over loaded with too many names, styles and eras to
remember. Which made my next decision one quite strange at least for me. Susan wanted to walk through the palace gardens to the Musee d'Orange. I was tempted to wait for her outside as it was one of those perfect days. Sunny and 70 degrees. But she mentioned that Monet had painted his garden on the walls of this museum and having grown up with an excellent artist , Mom, who addored Monet's works I had to at least do a quick walk through. As I said I am not an art museum kind of guy. But what I saw in the Musee d'Orange captivated me. Inside the artist held in such high esteeme by both My Mom and sister Tracy , had captured the essence of the gardens at his home in Giverny, FR. I watched the various people as they walked in. The men like myself looked around with impartial faces. But the women! Oh the women! The women's faces immediately lit up with smiles and joy. Their eyes fairly gleamed with tears as they beheld the lillys on the pond. They would sit on the bench and ooze excitement as they turned slowly around the room taking in all the colors.
For those of you who have not partaken in this as yet, the museum's rooms are eliptical. Long spaces surrounded with gently curving walls. The ceilings are glass with white fabric stretched across softly diffusing the light of day as it plays with Monet's water gardens. There is not a bad seat in the house so to speak. The oval seat at each rooms center allows one a vantage of every aspect of the paintings. There is a sacred silence here. One talks in wispers and then not often. The hush of the paintings is almost tangible to the onlookers. I walk from room to room slowly amazed that color could be applied to a wall and reveal as though it had always been part of that wall the light and essence of Monet's dream.
On exiting we decided to take a detore the next day and visit the real thing. After seeing Jean and Jim off to the train Susan and I drove through Pairs to Giverny. I will save the driving experience here for another story as it merits more attention.
We arrived in Giverny thanks to Susan's navigation located Monet's home. I would not recomend doing this without a GPS as it is quite hard to find. Purchasing our tickets we entered the upper gardens, those above the pond. Plants that we see at home like sunflowers grew to twelve feet here in this fertile soil. All maner of flowers were to be seen. Each towering above it's stateside cousins. The tour groups followed their guides like so many ducklings and their mother. Each with an earpiece listening in thier natve tongue to her decription of the history of the garden and its many itterations.
A nice couple from Charlotte, NC took Susan and I's picture. We took group pictures for people from England.
Then we headed downhill and through a tunel under the road to the water gardens. The first thing you see is the stream rushing through it's narrow banks at a furious pace. Willows droop low over the water and climbing roses cover trellis and trees alike. Paths lead around the pond created by Monet when he redirected the stream around a man made basin. Into this basin he planted his bullrushes and his lillys many of which are still blooming now in September. We dodged tour groups and baby strollers. Europeans take their infants everwhere. seldom do you hear a baby cry. A large stand of Bamboo has command of one area. It's tendrals reaching up and over the stream. They back up to the willow tree made
famous in one of Monets paintings. the one with the row boat tied to it. A similar rowboat rests on the pond tied to the tree today. I took numerous pictures with my camera. A Mother and daughter near us were taking pictures of each other as though painting the real garden. Susan discovered the very spot where Monet painted one of his autum pieces we had seen in the museum. After several attempts I captured the yellow willow's leaves reflected by the pond super-imposing the lilly's nearly the same way Monet did in his painting. We stroll across the bridges, snapping pictures and talking about my mother. It is certain that she would have loved these gardens had she seen them. Alas, she never travelled to France to see Monet's works, either in the museum or in bloom in his gardens. She chose a different path and passed away last year. A quirky twist of fate happened to me while there. Twice I caught a glimpse of a women about Mom's age and apperance. Each time my heart skipped a beat. Strange how we see what we want to see in the world. Purhaps, I came here for her? I am not sure.
I mentioned that the title of this was "In search of the real Claud Monet". Thats because as much as I enjoyed the louvre I am not really a museum gower. like many people I have a short attention span and quickly get over loaded with too many names, styles and eras to
remember. Which made my next decision one quite strange at least for me. Susan wanted to walk through the palace gardens to the Musee d'Orange. I was tempted to wait for her outside as it was one of those perfect days. Sunny and 70 degrees. But she mentioned that Monet had painted his garden on the walls of this museum and having grown up with an excellent artist , Mom, who addored Monet's works I had to at least do a quick walk through. As I said I am not an art museum kind of guy. But what I saw in the Musee d'Orange captivated me. Inside the artist held in such high esteeme by both My Mom and sister Tracy , had captured the essence of the gardens at his home in Giverny, FR. I watched the various people as they walked in. The men like myself looked around with impartial faces. But the women! Oh the women! The women's faces immediately lit up with smiles and joy. Their eyes fairly gleamed with tears as they beheld the lillys on the pond. They would sit on the bench and ooze excitement as they turned slowly around the room taking in all the colors.For those of you who have not partaken in this as yet, the museum's rooms are eliptical. Long spaces surrounded with gently curving walls. The ceilings are glass with white fabric stretched across softly diffusing the light of day as it plays with Monet's water gardens. There is not a bad seat in the house so to speak. The oval seat at each rooms center allows one a vantage of every aspect of the paintings. There is a sacred silence here. One talks in wispers and then not often. The hush of the paintings is almost tangible to the onlookers. I walk from room to room slowly amazed that color could be applied to a wall and reveal as though it had always been part of that wall the light and essence of Monet's dream.
On exiting we decided to take a detore the next day and visit the real thing. After seeing Jean and Jim off to the train Susan and I drove through Pairs to Giverny. I will save the driving experience here for another story as it merits more attention.We arrived in Giverny thanks to Susan's navigation located Monet's home. I would not recomend doing this without a GPS as it is quite hard to find. Purchasing our tickets we entered the upper gardens, those above the pond. Plants that we see at home like sunflowers grew to twelve feet here in this fertile soil. All maner of flowers were to be seen. Each towering above it's stateside cousins. The tour groups followed their guides like so many ducklings and their mother. Each with an earpiece listening in thier natve tongue to her decription of the history of the garden and its many itterations.
A nice couple from Charlotte, NC took Susan and I's picture. We took group pictures for people from England.Then we headed downhill and through a tunel under the road to the water gardens. The first thing you see is the stream rushing through it's narrow banks at a furious pace. Willows droop low over the water and climbing roses cover trellis and trees alike. Paths lead around the pond created by Monet when he redirected the stream around a man made basin. Into this basin he planted his bullrushes and his lillys many of which are still blooming now in September. We dodged tour groups and baby strollers. Europeans take their infants everwhere. seldom do you hear a baby cry. A large stand of Bamboo has command of one area. It's tendrals reaching up and over the stream. They back up to the willow tree made
famous in one of Monets paintings. the one with the row boat tied to it. A similar rowboat rests on the pond tied to the tree today. I took numerous pictures with my camera. A Mother and daughter near us were taking pictures of each other as though painting the real garden. Susan discovered the very spot where Monet painted one of his autum pieces we had seen in the museum. After several attempts I captured the yellow willow's leaves reflected by the pond super-imposing the lilly's nearly the same way Monet did in his painting. We stroll across the bridges, snapping pictures and talking about my mother. It is certain that she would have loved these gardens had she seen them. Alas, she never travelled to France to see Monet's works, either in the museum or in bloom in his gardens. She chose a different path and passed away last year. A quirky twist of fate happened to me while there. Twice I caught a glimpse of a women about Mom's age and apperance. Each time my heart skipped a beat. Strange how we see what we want to see in the world. Purhaps, I came here for her? I am not sure. 
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