You're right Chris - on both counts. Sorry.
Giverny is lovely; when we lived in Paris we went several times. One
account I read stated that the eye that was operated on (would it have been
a corneal replacement?) had poor UV filtering, hence his colour vision
changes.
cheers
On 28 January 2016 at 06:24, ChrisB <ftog@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
> That poem is rather lovely, Moose. That link is useful, Jez, although the
> images didn’t load for me.
>
> I’ve visited his house at Giverny and it is a beautiful place; we stayed
> not far away, on the river at Les Andelys, a place on the apex of a meander
> of the Seine. It was a thoroughly peaceful and restful place to be.
>
> Chris
> (I do hate the term “back story”, though. “Background” was useful enough
> and less ugly.)
>
> > On 27 Jan 16, at 22:13, Jez Cunningham <jez@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
> >
> > The back story is equally fascinating...
> > http://psych.ucalgary.ca/PACE/VA-Lab/AVDE-Website/Monet.html
> >
> >
> > On 27/01/2016, Moose <olymoose@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
> >> Monet Refuses the Operation
> >>
> >> Doctor, you say that there are no halos
> >> around the streetlights in Paris
> >> and what I see is an aberration
> >> caused by old age, an affliction.
> >> I tell you it has taken me all my life
> >> to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
> >> to soften and blur and finally banish
> >> the edges you regret I don't see,
> >> to learn that the line I called the horizon
> >> does not exist and sky and water,
> >> so long apart, are the same state of being.
> >> Fifty-four years before I could see
> >> Rouen cathedral is built
> >> of parallel shafts of sun,
> >> and now you want to restore
> >> my youthful errors: fixed
> >> notions of top and bottom,
> >> the illusion of three-dimensional space,
> >> wisteria separate
> >> from the bridge it covers.
> >> What can I say to convince you
> >> the Houses of Parliament dissolve
> >> night after night to become
> >> the fluid dream of the Thames?
> >> I will not return to a universe
> >> of objects that don't know each other,
> >> as if islands were not the lost children
> >> of one great continent. The world
> >> is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
> >> becomes water, lilies on water,
> >> above and below water,
> >> becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
> >> and white and cerulean lamps,
> >> small fists passing sunlight
> >> so quickly to one another
> >> that it would take long, streaming hair
> >> inside my brush to catch it.
> >> To paint the speed of light!
> >> Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
> >> burn to mix with air
> >> and changes our bones, skin, clothes
> >> to gases. Doctor,
> >> if only you could see
> >> how heaven pulls earth into its arms
> >> and how infinitely the heart expands
> >> to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
> >>
> >> - Lisel Mueller
> >>
> >>
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