Tuesday, July 28, 2015

City Folk

Kate is here for the week. 
Emma arrives tomorrow and we will have six of our seven home together for 2 or 3 days before the older girls return to jobs and preparing for the next year of college. Jane is here a little longer and it's been sweet to see the 'little' girls interact like teenagers. 
Everyone grew up so fast.
Matt had to work yesterday, so the girls and I headed to the city.

 
 
 
Kate & Jane had never been to The Met and there was a Van Gogh display I wanted to see while it was still in town : Irises and Roses.
 
 
It was beautiful, simply beautiful.
 
 
I am not a fan of everything he painted, but you'd be hard pressed to find me snub my nose at anything with an iris. Kate and I discussed the things we liked about the series and noted some of the nuances of that particular phase of Van Gogh's life and how it impacted his art. 
Subtle color changes and blends, flashes of white amid stark black, yet wavering outlines.
The beauty and intricate details he saw in the ordinary and we speculated how much his madness played a part in what he saw. 
 
 
As we talked, absorbed in the paintings, I heard a man mumble something to me and turned to look at him. 
He was one of those people that seem to be straight out of a TV show about people in an art gallery.
He was tall and skinny- with a tweed jacket (in July), round glasses and a salt and pepper goatee. He probably had a pipe in his pocket that he smoked organic tobacco in and a pocket watch he picked up from a flea market, that he wishes his granddad had passed down to him instead of all of those pairs of blue corduroy bell bottoms.
(I may possibly be giving the guy more of an imaginary backstory than is needed.)
You see at least 10 versions of this guy at every museum in the city.
 He said to me "Yes, I didn't note before how the  madness dictated the line work. I see it now."
I just smiled and inched away as I tried not to laugh at how my just off the-turnip truck art assessment that I was quietly sharing with my equally turnip truck trained daughter impressed this cliche' of a New York gallery attendee. 

I guess that means we're cultured now.
 
 
 
 

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