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416 pages, Paperback
First published September 6, 2016
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Oh blimey, this should have sent me into raptures, and it really would have, if I hadn't, lifelongingly? (heh!) acquainted myself, through pure love, to Monet.
As far back as 1891, Octave Mirbeau wrote that Monet did not “limit himself to translating nature” and that his paintings revealed “the states of unconsciousness of the planet, and the suprasensible forms of our thoughts.” A year later, Camille Mauclair enthused that Monet's paintings were “made from a dream and a magical breath...leaving for the eyes only a mad enchantment that convulses vision, reveals an unsuspected nature, lifts it up unto the symbol by way of this unreal and vertiginous execution.” Monet, he claimed, skimmed over “the philosophy of appearances” in order to show “eternal nature in all her fleeting aspects”.
Much of Claude Monet’s life and work had been a mad striving for the impossible. His goal, which he frankly admitted was unattainable, was to paint his carefully chosen object – the cathedral, cliff, or wheat stack before which he raised his easel – under singular and fleeting conditions of weather and light. As he told an English visitor, he wanted “to render my impressions before the most fugitive effects.” In 1889 a critic had scoffed that Monet’s paintings were nothing more than a matter of “geography and the calendar.” This was, however, to miss the point of Monet’s work. Since objects changed their color and appearance according to the seasons, the meteorological conditions, and the time of day, Monet hoped to capture their visual impact in these brief, distinctive, ever-changing moments in time. He concentrated not only on the objects themselves but also, critically, on the atmosphere that surrounded them, the erratically shifting phantoms of light and color that he called the enveloppe. “Everything changes, even stone,” he wrote to Alice while working on his paintings of the façade of Rouen Cathedral. But freezing the appearance of objects amid fleeting phantoms of light and air was no easy task. “I am chasing a dream,” he admitted in 1895. “I want the impossible.”
It is difficult to separate discussions of an artist’s “late work” from romantic associations of blind seers offering up unutterable visions from beyond the threshold, or of old men raging against the dying of the light. But it is undeniable that as his eye filmed over and his vision slowly dimmed, Monet, “who caught and sang the sun in flight”, focused ever more intently on the fleeting rays of light that he had always chased and cherished.
"Monet paints in a strange language", [a] reviewer had claimed in 1883, "whose secrets, together with a few initiates, he alone possesses."
Faithfully depicting architectural features was less important to him than creating a striking composition."