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By the blue-purple-yellow-red-water…

On the green-orange-violet grass…

As we pass through our perfect park…

Pausing on a Sunday…

By the cool blue triangular water…

On the soft green elliptical grass…

As we pass through arrangements of shadow…

Past the verticals of trees…

Forever.

In case you hadn’t guessed yet, these pictures are of the Grande Jatte, a very small island park in the Seine, all the way over at Pont de Levallois, and the setting for the following very famous painting:

It’s a strange feeling to visit A. the very famous setting of a very famous painting and B. a place that has, for one reason or another, held a great deal of meaning for me…and doesn’t anymore.

Sondheim’s shows were so important to me growing up. I think they were the first music of any kind that I found on my own and never really shared with my family. For whatever reason, I felt intensely connected to this music, this composer, these people who also loved Sondheim. And somehow, it doesn’t speak to me anymore. Which isn’t to say that the experience of the finale of Act I of Sunday in the Park With George doesn’t make me tear up a little when I hear it live.

When I posted on Facebook that I had been to the Grande Jatte, a couple of my friends asked me to elaborate on my experience. They expected it would be some kind of revelatory experience–sitting there looking at the water, maybe listening to Sunday in the Park on my iPod, contemplating life, love, art and the universe…but to tell the truth, I felt, well, nothing. Morales, I think you should transfer to Girls’ High. You’ll never be an actress, never!

It’s just a park. It was kind of rainy. You can’t actually sit as close to the water anymore, the way they do in the painting. There weren’t people strolling in the park, only runners and dog walkers. There was no mystique.

There were, however, ducks in the Seine. That I liked.

Bisous,
Anne

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