Impressionism

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When I lived for several months in France as the guest at a large walled-in Chateau estate, I enjoyed early morning walks through the forest, the formal gardens, and a secret garden.  As the sun rose filtering its light through the forest, the trees looked as though someone burned the tree-tops with millions of sparklers. I began to understand why the French Impressionists were so in awe of light and color.

As the sun rose filtering its light through the forest,  the trees looked as though someone torched the tree-tops with millions of sparklers. I began to understand why the French Impressionists were so in awe of light and color.

This pastel is from one of those early morning walks.

I might add that my early morning walks lit some fireworks in the room where Carl and Nick the ever so patient security guards slept. Each time I crossed an infrared security line I set off the bells and whistle jarring Carl and Nick awake to the security breach alarms. The next sound I heard was my walkie-talkie buzzing, (because the Chateau had 100 rooms and the grounds were expansive we had to communicate using walkie-talkies.) and a voice saying, Have you again forgotten to warn us when you are out walking so early.”

Good thing there were no dungeons.

 

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