Winter is not my favourite season. I abhor frozen toes and fingers, chapped lips, chattering teeth and slipping cars. But this week, while driving to Netherlands, I saw the beauty of a snow covered Europe.
The bare trees stand straight, fingers inching to the sky, kissed by the faintest sprinkling of snow. When it’s 5 PM, I won’t be able to see the snow; just the silhouettes of the landscape. I can see the treacherous hardened ice on the pathways to work. If I stand just so, I can hitch a ride and slip all the way to the steps. If I place my gloved hand on that post, I leave an imprint of my palm on the cotton soft snow.
I am a child again. And I want friends so that I can enjoy a good snowball fight.
But, I am rambling… lost in this crazy love for the perfect little crystals that Jack Frost lovingly fashions. I can touch one and it melts. Like quick silver, it’s gone.
The view from The Building speaks to me of the paintings I see in a dozen museums- some Belgian, some not. One of our rooms is called by the name of the painter. His name is Pieter Breughel, the Elder.
I find this funny. That I can see a scene or a piece of art and think that I know a(nother) piece of art that looks similar.
A friend and I were touring the British Art Gallery (amazing pieces, much prefer it to the British Museum). I was extolling the virtues of one of my favourite painters (Caravaggio), “He paints in these dark shades, his subject matter is dark, and you can see the shadows lengthening. The paintings look a bit like that one there.” I pointed to a mid size painting near the entrance.
The friend strode over to the painting and read, “Michelangelo Merisi, also known as Caravaggio.”
I looked a little shame-faced…
I am turning into a culture vulture. It might not be long before I acquire myself a chihuahua, drop it into a large pink bag and stride down the Parisian boulevards, 5 inch heels clicking on the cobblestones, nose in the air. The idea is not appetising.
Meanwhile, I can take solace in acquiring millions of pieces of useless trivia about World History. Or maybe not, that is just going to turn me into an obnoxious little twerp with a know-it-all voice.
Sigh. I can never win.