On a work trip to Paris I had a free day. I found a train to Giverny and decided to visit Claude Monet’s house and famous garden. His paintings never moved me much but I was keen to see the countryside and his home. Upon boarding the early morning train the fresh colors of the upholstery so impressed me I snapped this quick photo.
The stripes, the contrast and joyful correlation seemed a portent of good things to come.
Energized by the happy fabric and the beautiful spring day I trekked the few kilometers from the station to Monet’s home. As I crunched along the gravel path beside the quiet river I pondered my lifelong bias against impressionism. When I was little, living in a deep canyon beside a river much like this one, my mother purchased slides of famous paintings and clothbound folios featuring the lives of the artists. She hoped to school us on the world beyond. Her reverence for culture and the arts seemed mournful, even suspect, as though the absence of both was the cause of her depression. Why learn about these paintings? I would rather run in the sand and swim in the bright water.
Soon I would see for myself the water lilies that inspired Monet’s paintings, and spawned countless imitations. I vowed to “see anew” in Monet’s garden. Why not?
The line to enter the house was long, the line for the gardens much longer. Selfie sticks had hit peak popularity and these sticks protruded from both lines every which way. Tourists broke ranks, hovering close to any natural view, clicking self-portraits using the garden as background. Geez. Okay, first the house tour, then the garden? Seemed smart.
Inside the provincial French home the carved faux bamboo bedroom furniture, the galley kitchen, the living room, felt harmonious and comfortable. Charming patterns and small artworks greeted us as we attempted to glimpse the daily life of this famous painter who died one hundred years before. Whenever I had a moment in a room to myself I felt the magnetic pull of the natural world outside, just beyond the tall, narrow windows. Of course he wanted to be in the garden! Now I did too.
Outdoors the crowd hampered deep experience. All the glorious blooms, even those close by, were blocked by tourists smiling brightly in the direction of their extended phones. It would take hours to get anywhere near the water lilies; there was not a pond in sight. I would have to return on a rainy day, very early in the morning, to “see anew” Monet’s inspiration.
As I turned to leave a brilliant cluster of flowers caught my eye across the path. Escapees from the garden, jubilant poppies and calendula, nodded and bowed in the breeze. The colors! What luck! The startling correspondence between the stripes on the train and these blooms might seem minor to some. But colorists have a unique view of the world, especially those with synesthesia. Here are the flowers, so full of joy.
I’m lucky. Decorators, architects and clients invite me to stand in a space and share what I feel. What I intuit is vibed to me through the client, the space, the light. I hear and feel the story the space wants to tell. What informs the outcome is unpredictable, as serendipitous as the interplay between those morning stripes and juicy flowers. We find communion when we see anew, together, and this communion is rich, productive and worthy, the essence of delight.
I wonder, do you have colleagues who inspire trust, invite you to collaborate, to generate joy?
Why did I handily dismiss impressionism so long ago? Was it simply too popular, in my young girl view, once Monet’s lilies appeared on scarves and coffee mugs, even placemats? Like those selfie sticks, the artwork seemed a fad. Back then I missed the chance to commune with my mother, never intuited the story my mother wanted to tell. It took forty years for us to become friends. For Mother’s Day I bought her a silk scarf, with water lilies.
If I do return to Giverny I will bring my intuitive self, and the memory of my mother, and hope to see Monet’s garden. Anew. For both of us.
You’ve done it again Elisa! Putting into words your experiences and vivid memories that are all woven together into the beautiful tapestry of your life. Thanks as always for sharing.
Lovely words. Makes me want to go on a walk with open eyes.
You’re the only other person I know who derives a deep, visceral pleasure from color the way my mother and I do. It’s a gift, isn’t it?!