
Louvre windows. They open, they close. You look through them to spy the sea when you're on holidays. Your fibro weekender has a sunroom full of louvre windows. You sit and watch the summer holidays go by. You love the simple mechanism that opens them, that closes them.
I open one now and see a holiday in a world of white statues. A young lady is still slumbering on her quilt. I remember her from my last holiday here. Wake up, it's been 26 years!
I go to another louvre. I open it and see the history of painting stretching out like kind of a chain. I see religious works where a mother suckles her child, where men are nailed to timber on dark stormy afternoons. I see angels and daemons at every turn. And as the years go by something wonderful happens. The visionaries from the dark forests begin to see the sky, and the clouds, and the sea, without torment in them. They are places now, that are meanings as well. No one will be punished and redeemed. The landscape is now a real place and it is everywhere. It has escaped the enslavement of dogma by men with thick leather books.
La Louvre impressions..
I open one now and see a holiday in a world of white statues. A young lady is still slumbering on her quilt. I remember her from my last holiday here. Wake up, it's been 26 years!
I go to another louvre. I open it and see the history of painting stretching out like kind of a chain. I see religious works where a mother suckles her child, where men are nailed to timber on dark stormy afternoons. I see angels and daemons at every turn. And as the years go by something wonderful happens. The visionaries from the dark forests begin to see the sky, and the clouds, and the sea, without torment in them. They are places now, that are meanings as well. No one will be punished and redeemed. The landscape is now a real place and it is everywhere. It has escaped the enslavement of dogma by men with thick leather books.
La Louvre impressions..