I feel lonely today, I don't want a vacation with my family, I want to begin to make things happen here. I don't want to babysit my father on the Metro, I don't want to order food for him because he can't even say bon jour.
I still float in limbo, and will until they leave. I'm tempted to just take a bus back to London, and find my way to The Fat Duck and triumphantly present my resume and offer my services (although if I bailed my little sister would never forgive me). Somehow I keep ending up back at the hotel by ten, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
I want to scream!
On a good note I did have one day to myself, and I made a trek to all the neighborhoods in Paris that Henry Miller lived in: the Villa Borghese and the Place Clichy. I also discovered that The Louvre is not overrated as I thought it would be. The Itallian rennesianse wing brought me to my knees, one painting in particular.
It's been a long time since a painting moved me so much. The Virgin and child are in the present absorbed in the mother child bond, christ is merely human here, no divinity at all. The Virgin is just like any other doting mother, this representing the old, dying world. The young Baptist, he looks outward, into the eyes of the viewer, pleading. He looks to the furure, asking, begging for the new world, still being a child he expects it to be handed to him, he does not yet realize that he has to make the new world himself, that he has to die for it, that the infant has to die for it. He begs and glows, he thinks that just because it is ineveiteble that it will be easy. How like our world, how like my life. Makes me smile, but it also makes me sad.
Tell me how one image can say so much?
:edit:I just noticed the young baptist is tugging on the Virgin's sleeve, as if to pull her into his future -- in to the new world.
Consequence.
I still float in limbo, and will until they leave. I'm tempted to just take a bus back to London, and find my way to The Fat Duck and triumphantly present my resume and offer my services (although if I bailed my little sister would never forgive me). Somehow I keep ending up back at the hotel by ten, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
I want to scream!
On a good note I did have one day to myself, and I made a trek to all the neighborhoods in Paris that Henry Miller lived in: the Villa Borghese and the Place Clichy. I also discovered that The Louvre is not overrated as I thought it would be. The Itallian rennesianse wing brought me to my knees, one painting in particular.
It's been a long time since a painting moved me so much. The Virgin and child are in the present absorbed in the mother child bond, christ is merely human here, no divinity at all. The Virgin is just like any other doting mother, this representing the old, dying world. The young Baptist, he looks outward, into the eyes of the viewer, pleading. He looks to the furure, asking, begging for the new world, still being a child he expects it to be handed to him, he does not yet realize that he has to make the new world himself, that he has to die for it, that the infant has to die for it. He begs and glows, he thinks that just because it is ineveiteble that it will be easy. How like our world, how like my life. Makes me smile, but it also makes me sad.
Tell me how one image can say so much?
:edit:I just noticed the young baptist is tugging on the Virgin's sleeve, as if to pull her into his future -- in to the new world.
Consequence.
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maybe I should just drop everything and fly out to Paris. Right now.