It's Monday and, once again, I have been away for the weekend and feel the need of a couple days relaxation before I plunge back into my workaday world. Will I get it? No, I will not. I will have to forge ahead, flinging off the chains of my word-filled weekend, and bravely tackle the challenges of the week. Of course it's payday and I'll probably be able to knit at work in between infrequent customers but it's the principle of the thing. On to writing.
April 4 & 5--Vincent van Gogh, Van Gogh's Bedroom at Arles. The woodwork and walls of the tiny bedroom were so purple that they made the floor look purple too. They weren't dark, exactly, but they seemed to shed their purpleness over every other thing in the room. Even the air seemed to carry a faint purple tint. Looking at it, even for a minute, gave me a mild headache and the need to turn away. I can't imagine how he slept there. I'd have cut off my ear, too, just to have a chance to sleep somewhere else.
April 6--Georges Pierre Seurat, Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Like a motor driven automaton, the characters in the scene move in jerky starts and stops. You expect to hear the faint grinding of gears and see the jump of a figure as the metal spring unwinds. there isn't a soft curve among the lot, except for the rounded back of the pet monkey at the bottom. All of the people are straight and stiff, holding themselves ready for the next turn of the key that winds them into action.
And that's that. Enjoy your day. I'll be back tomorrow with more drivel or maybe some little gem. I never know what's coming.
--Barbara
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