Monet and Sweeney

I have been known to cry at Monets, and today was no different. It began with Wheatstacks in the Minneapolis Institute of Art and since then Impressionists have evolved into an ecstatic experience. I have always uncovered as much about my relationship with God and the universe in Church. Today, I went through the National Gallery's Impressionist section and Pissarro and Monet taught me more about myself than I have learned in a while. After a few hours of art, I felt emotionally drained and somehow lifted up in a way. But enough of the art euphoria. Just looking at lumps of paint that have created an image from the mind of a man. These men might have died, but their thoughts and images live on as they will forever. Even the pictures that were destroyed are never fully lost, but will live in the mind of an artist, in the memories and thoughts that can never be destroyed. But even after we are able to express all the beauty of thoughts in words, what are they all but gifts from God. What can I do then but then try to improve everything I write, draw, think, or say to make it beautiful for Him.

Well, those were some of my random thoughts before going to Trafalgar Square then seeing Sweeney Todd with Imelda Staunton and Michael Ball. It was a beautiful production and the odd thing was is that I imagined myself sitting next to someone I knew who wasn't there. Andrea was on one side, but the empty seat on the other, I would sometimes turn to wanting to share, but no one was there even though it seemed like they were. My mind does some of the strangest most beautiful things.