Connecting the dots
It starts at the back of the head. Sometimes it is so vivid that it threatens to spill over...over onto the conversations in the room, over and above the music reaching the ears, shimmering over the traffic sounds and lights...over onto the now. Yesterday looking at the symmetry of flowers, Monet came back. The first time that Monet had entered this life. As mundane a surrounding as a classroom, thin wooden benches with uncomfortable backs. Strong sunlight streaming in and forming designs on the floor. Little sounds of the birds outside. Larger sounds of the people inside. Bewitched, we all watched and heard the teacher tell us fascinating stories of people who saw the light, who saw nature, who saw paint like no one else. People who started the Impressionist school of though and painting without a thought. Monet at the forefront. All of us found our own special one. Leafing through the dark, usually damp shelves with books not colourful enough...each one of us was immersed in a new...