My memory is apparently not the greatest. Although I once prided myself on my ability to recall specific details about people and events from my childhood, now I’m often at a loss when people say, “Don’t you remember that time we…” No, I don’t; I’m getting old. Now others, like my sister, remember better than I things that I have done or that have happened to me.
For example, I recently reread two novels. Unintentionally. After waiting nine months to dive into my ambitious summer reading list, I realized that I had already read two of the five or six books I first tackled. As I read I would think, “Parts of this are sounding eerily familiar.” What is worse, I didn’t enjoy those novels the first time I read them, so it was a double downer. If only I had first checked my list against my sister’s memory. When I told my sister what I have been reading this summer, her response was: “Haven’t you read that before?”
My second lapse in memory this month was in trying to recall the details of a story I wanted to share; I could remember a bare outline of the event but none of the specifics. Thankfully, I’ve relied not on Allison’s memory for this story, but on my own handy travel journal. But first…
This month I had the wonderful experience of painting my first picture! I am not very artistic and I haven’t done any art work since middle school, probably, but my friend, Debbie Matthews, kindly agreed to take me on as a student so that I could produce a painting in a few short weeks that was decent enough for me to hang on my bedroom wall.
I met with Debbie three times in her home where she introduced me to many things painting-related, such as how to create perspective, how to apply different brush strokes, how to mix colors, how to use dry brush technique and make and apply a wash, and how to use a sponge to add texture. My painting was to be an impressionistic rendering of a path winding through the forest; it had a dreamy and romantic quality to it that I loved. Debbie cautioned that it would be challenging, but she said we could do it; I figured I might as well go for it while I was going!
Painting was fun but challenging and I was so afraid I would mess up. I needed step-by-step instructions from Debbie on how to…pretty much do everything. As I began painting, I was thrilled that what was supposed to be a picture of a path through woods actually looked like a path through woods! One of the many things I loved about working with Debbie was that she would gush: “Oh, I love it!!”--and be sincere. I think one of the marks of a great teacher is inspiring students to think they can do it; I have far from mastered that in my teaching so Debbie was an awesome model for me.
By the end of our third session, my first painting was completed, signed, and ready for hanging. But to see the finished product, you have to keep reading! (Okay, you could technically just scroll down to see the pictures but I hope you’ll take a minute to read the rest of this highly fascinating entry.)
Well, I obviously did not have any substantive memories of myself as an artist to reflect upon this month (and I probably would have forgotten them if I had). I have visited several art museums, however, so those experiences will have to suffice.
The first art exhibit I really appreciated was an impressive one of Monet’s paintings. Allison had urged our visiting the exhibit, and I hadn’t quite grasped its import until, standing among these breathtaking masterpieces, I said incredulously, “Are these, like, originals?!!” Allison, of course, had a heyday with this (“Did you think we came here to see copies?!!”).
My first foray into the world of fine art.
After this unpromising beginning, however, my appreciation for art has increased.
A few years ago, my sister and I visited the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Rouen, France. Unfortunately, it was one of those rush-rush visits in which we attempted to cram as much of Rouen and as much of the Musée as humanly possible into a few brief hours. Allison and I were forever missing trains in France and had already missed one earlier that day, so we were trying to be especially careful not to miss the last one back to Caen.
With only little more than an hour allotted for the Musée, we separated—turns out, a bad idea for me.
I think we may have been the only ones in the museum that afternoon, because museum staffers were always lurking around us, friendly but a little smothering. Well, a middle-aged male staffer evidently surmised that this American tourist needed a tutorial on the art I was viewing. He approached as I was taking in a beautiful Monet of the Rouen cathedral and remarked that this was the most beautiful piece in the series. Had I been to the cathedral? (Yes, we had booked it all over the cathedral as part of our whirlwind tour of Rouen.)
In broken English, my staffer began discussing some painting trick of Monet’s and led me back two rooms to a painting I’d already viewed. Trying to be polite by humoring him, I nevertheless inwardly revolted about losing time seeing the same painting twice. Hidden in the painting were the phrases “Vive la France” and “Vive la Republique,” and he instructed me to look for them. (It was kinda cool, I admit.)
My unsolicited museum tour guide led me to another Monet (which I’d already seen) and he showed me a face in the water of the painting. O-kay. When another worker came up and began excitedly discussing in French another face in the painting, I edged away and slipped into another room. Our train was leaving in less than an hour and I wanted to cram in as much “culture” as I could; it’s the American tourist’s motto, after all.
Before I knew it, the staffer was at my side again, showing me more “tricks” in another painting. He had me stand at different angles around the painting and observe how objects in the painting changed as I changed positions. I just kind of obeyed whatever he told me to do; well, he told me to stand here and look at the painting from this angle so who am I to refuse?
The fun continued as he and another worker (a female) trailed me. Finally, Allison emerged from some obscure gallery, and instead of rescuing me from my well-meaning stalker, she took in a few more paintings.
My staffer suddenly veered from the professional to the personal. How long had I been in France, had I been to Paris—which must have made Rouen seem so small in comparison—tee hee hee (did I mention his constant titter?).
Then he made some comment about “your boyfriend” and that was my aha! moment. You see, ladies, when you are unsure whether a guy’s stalking you in a museum and offering heaps of helpful advice indicates a sincere desire to be of assistance or something more, a reference to the boyfriend settles the matter. He hopes you’ll deny the existence of such a personage. Happily, I was no novice at such a ploy. My sure defense was to deflect with a laugh and to proceed to the next painting (because that had worked so well before, right?).
I was a bit flustered by this point; he kept speaking to the side of my face or my retreating back—I’m not sure which. Due to the broken English, I didn’t quite understand him but I did catch when he said, “very beautiful” and looked significantly at me.
I blushed because I thought he was directing those words at me, but as Allison and I discussed later, he may well have been referring to Paris, Rouen, or Monet, for all I could comprehend.
At any rate, Allison, who’d been in her own little world and thus blissfully unaware of her sister’s discomfiture, reappeared and unknowingly rescued me, hastening me off to our waiting train.
Now, as I promised for humoring me, here are the photos:
