Dawn
in the San Luis Rey Valley
and
Memories of the Getty
Ten
years ago when we first moved back to Oceanside, the finding of
Rancho Hermosa was like coming home again. They say you can't go home
again, but I disagree. We first moved to Oceanside in 1991. I became
very involved in the Arts Community and at last I found home.
Now,
in the year 2020 I walked at Dawn. I used to run up and down the
hills of Oceanside at dawn, but now, walking is just right for the
calmness that comes with a slower pace. This morning the hills and
faraway mountains were like a pastel painting. The shading of pale
lavenders in the background, the hills in front of the mountain
shading to purple and then to dark blue. It was like walking into an
impressionist painting.
Last
summer I was fortunate to visit the Getty Museum with my daughter
Laura. The very best part was the room with the impressionist
paintings by Van Gogh and Monet. The Haystack of Monet captured my
heart. The blending of his color pallet is without peer. Lucky me,
there was a bench which I could spend time to gaze upon this
masterwork. Many folks were walking by the painting and just clicking
their little phones not looking at the real painting.
At the Getty, Monet's Haystack |
I could see him
in my minds eye, there, in his place of easy solitude doing his work.
Timeless in his own world, we see him now in our world of the 21
century, of teeming human endeavors which leave little time for such
contemplation. The colors imprinted in my minds eye, have given me
joy and peace knowing that this beautiful piece of human art work is in a place
where the great works of art are there for everyone to see. The Getty immortalizing this human being who created his work for the world to know and love.
Turning
the corner from San Dimas onto San Miguel, the view of the valley,
and the mountains beyond, made the sudden intake of breath like
drinking fine wine. Magic It was, another mystical world apart from
the madding course of covid-19, this world of silence with the
changing colors rushing to the breaking Dawn. The Valley can't be put into a museum, but it is in the museum of our presence if we only look and pause to breathe...
The lavender silence now was broken with the neighborhood mocking bird. His little
self perched atop a fence singing forth with his hearts desire to
welcome this ethereal day. Now, the colors were changing so quickly
for with the coming of the morning sun, the precious moments of pastel
colors were fading fast. The little bird's song quickened with his
young energy and I knew that it was time to go home again.
Turning
the corner from San Dimas onto San Pablo, my shadow was there before
me...the colors somewhat the same, but the shadow's elongation of my
human form was a foretelling that this day would not last that long, the
shadow knows, as I remember...the Haystack of long ago...
Lovely Lavender Contemplation, RJJ! I remember when I went to see the Monet exhibit at the De Young, it took my breath away. Fortunately, there was a bench for me to sit and gaze (and catch my breath). The impressionists live on in your writing and the landscape. Thank you for this beautiful post!
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