A few times in my life I’ve been moved to tears by a painting. It may seem silly to some, but Art touches me. Today Richard and I went to “IN BLOOM” at the Denver Art Museum. While having lunch at “Palettes” I read him the description of the exhibit and we knew that one of the pieces we would see is “Two Roses on a Tablecloth” attributed to be one of Manet’s last works of Art as he painted the flowers friends brought him as he was dying. Still, I wasn’t prepared for how I responded.
At first glance I sensed the longing, the closeness as if softly calling – it was melancholy in all it’s gloriousness and it beckons and draws one to pause, even if the pause is an uncomfortable one.
I walk away, then realize, I’m missing a moment, so I return and notice that my throat is tightening and unexpected tears are welling. Staring at the painting, it entices time to stall and thoughts to deepen.
One rose looks as if it stretching – a relevé – willing itself to lift to an unknown source of light that puddles around it, it is vibrant with life and a tinge of red harkens to a budded heart. The other rose is pale, waning and seems to be facing away as if desiring – yet not – to leave. The two touch and…
…and I think of a dear friend whose husband just passed away. I thought I was going to cry, I thought I wanted to cry, but then I didn’t. Instead, I was aware that I had a smile on my face and it felt ‘right’, this moment in time and all the passion around it was absolutely right.