FIELD NOTE 4.32 - Impressionism.

I've never really understood impressionism. Indeed my experiences with it are somewhat limited to what I've seen in my visits to the Richmond Museum of Fine Arts and in the various waiting rooms of doctors and dentists. No, my tastes tend to run more toward classical ancient Greek and Egyptian sculptures, a far cry from erratic brush strokes and vivid splashes of color.

So when it was decided that we should go see Monet's Waterlilies at le Musée de l'Orangerie, I was somewhat less than enthused but still intrigued anyway. After passing through security with a half-eaten panini in my bag despite the large sign clearly stating that no food is allowed in the museum, I made my way into the chamber holding Les Nymphéas with only a little lingering guilt.
The room, like the art it houses, is anything but traditional. I quickly took a seat on one of the leather benches in the center of the room, looking as much at the canvases as the other people. Ziming came over and sat beside me, asking me if I liked impressionism and, after finding out I really didn't know that much about it, explaining it to me even as I continued to look all about me.
Here's what I decided: even though impressionism definitely has its merits, it's not for me. Still, it can be incredibly beautiful and powerful. All around me people from various ages and cultures were reacting differently to the canvases. And then there was me, sitting there on that bench with my head cocked trying to make sense of it all. But with impressionism there is no sense, only feeling. So I decided to do just that - to take a single picture in an attempt what it is I felt there in that room, the sum of all my emotions.