I love Renoir, the warmth of his colors melts me. I love Van Gogh, the passion of life from his paintings gives me strength to get through whatever I struggle with. But Monet, there's no words I can find to admire him.
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Impression Soleil Levant (1873)
It's all started from here, from one early spring morning at Havre harbor , when sun painted the sky orange, when breeze and little boats made the sea dancing. One innocent journalist came up with the word "impressionism" from this canvas for making fun of this un-academic, new sort of painting style, he wouldn't know a movement was germinating: painters began to see this world more by their hearts than eyes, they tried to catch the beauty of every single moment with the effect of light. Until today, people come a long way here just for standing in front of these paintings, for walking into that world, with their hearts warmed, comforted.
These copies couldn't show how wonderful the really canvas are, neither can my words. How come those bunches of colorful dots and lines come together as a real image which moves, which has lives, which stays inside me as if I have been there seeing all these with Monet.
There are some very unusual paintings of Monet in this museum, wild and absurd. Like these two canvas, we can hardly tell they are Monet's Japanese bridge and roses garden in Giverny. Some people said that his style changed in his late life, others pointed out it's because of his cataracts have worsened his vision, so he just couldn't see the colors, no matter why it is, those paintings fascinate me.
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