by Tim Steury
The art critic John Berger, in an essay nearly as beautiful as its subject, ponders the reasons for the sadness in Monet’s eyes. "What an Impressionist painting shows," he concludes, "is painted in such a way that you are compelled to recognize that it is no longer there."
Monet in particular seemed to strive—or perhaps was compelled—to record things that cannot be recorded, things that cannot be grasped. His scenes shimmer, like memories. They are single, fleeting moments, reminders of life’s beauty and transience.
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