Point 10: Touched
Friday afternoon, arriving back home

Raindrops falling on me
While I am running through
Red fields of poppies set
Under low dark skies

Yellow took another tone
Turned from Raps to Mohn
I pick a flower, take it with me
To bring it home


The field or poppies, I passed it while I went jogging in the fields behind town, the fields that were all yellow just some weeks ago. The field of poppies, it greeted me again when I came home from the trip, home from the work out: it's the June page of the Impressionist calendar a friend gave to me in December.

And June in the calendar has just that colour and taste and atmosphere that it has here right now: fields of red poppies.

The painting on this page, the painting in the calendar, it's a Claude Monet - his "
Field of Poppies"

The real painting, it's a part of the Musee d'Orsay in Paris.
And Paris - is the place where I walked into the world of art for the first time, on a windy April day.

It was not that I hadn't been in museums before. I even had been in the very museum before, in the Louvre. But it was on that day, in the "Department des Paintures", that it happened.

I sat in front of Cezannes, Monets, Renoirs, and for the first time was taken by awe, by the beauty, by the daring. It was there that I was in the painting for a moment, that I could feel all those emotions the painter put in the painting, and that I found myself standing there, holding back my hand, holding back the longing to touch what just had touched me.

Point 9: Road trippin'

this travelogue is part of the subside travelzine
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