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I had a good day on Saturday.
What I'd planned to do was see the "Painted Prayers" illuminated manuscript exhibit at the Getty, then go to Santa Monica to visit the Farmer's Market there and see an arthouse film (and ride the carousel -- I love carousels). If there was, time I'd hit LACMA on the way back home since it's open until 9 pm on Saturdays. That didn't happen.
I got to the Getty just in time for a docent tour of the gardens. Then I went to see the "Painted Prayers" exhibit. It was breath taking. My two favorite pieces -- and I'm going to have to get the book from the exhibit -- were grisaille with gold highlights: simple, elegant, and deeply moving.
There was a related display in another wing. They'd gathered together as many pages as possible of a prayer book created for Louis XII. It was a stunning complement to the main exhibit.
The sky had clouds, and, in the distance, it was possible to see where it was raining. In spite of this, the day was so clear that I could see Catalina Island.
I ended up spending the whole day. If the paintings were too much for me, I'd go out to the gardens for awhile or visit the statuary in another room.
One of the best parts of the day was getting to help a lady who spoke no English with her questions about the museum and the furniture displays. It's been ages since I've conducted a whole conversation in French. There were a couple of words that I didn't know, but I filled in the way I used to. I was thinking in French again. I liked the weight of the language in my mouth. For a minute, it felt like a part of me had returned from a long exile.
There was a long conversation with one of the guards, too.
I kept returning to the pools and runnels and fountains that are part of the architecture of the place.
I watched the sunset into the ocean over Santa Monica. It was spectacular.
The garden pulled me back several times in different lights. Why do people feel the need to talk so loudly? The garden was gorgeous, but people kept shouting at each other. Even the nighttime discussions were loud.
I discovered tuberoses. That's one of the oddest things about being in Southern California. There are plants blooming even at this time of year. On one side of the garden was this intriguing vanilla and lemon peel scent. The bells of the flowers hung so low they knocked against my face. I didn't know what they were, but then, on the other side of the garden, there was the same plant. It's flowers were older; the edges were a darker cream and some were beginning to turn brown. That plant had the heavy, rich, womanly fragrance of tuberose. The age of the flower makes a difference to the scent. It's so cool.
All in all, I spent nine hours at the museum alone, wandering where I wanted to. It was a nice day.
What I'd planned to do was see the "Painted Prayers" illuminated manuscript exhibit at the Getty, then go to Santa Monica to visit the Farmer's Market there and see an arthouse film (and ride the carousel -- I love carousels). If there was, time I'd hit LACMA on the way back home since it's open until 9 pm on Saturdays. That didn't happen.
I got to the Getty just in time for a docent tour of the gardens. Then I went to see the "Painted Prayers" exhibit. It was breath taking. My two favorite pieces -- and I'm going to have to get the book from the exhibit -- were grisaille with gold highlights: simple, elegant, and deeply moving.
There was a related display in another wing. They'd gathered together as many pages as possible of a prayer book created for Louis XII. It was a stunning complement to the main exhibit.
The sky had clouds, and, in the distance, it was possible to see where it was raining. In spite of this, the day was so clear that I could see Catalina Island.
I ended up spending the whole day. If the paintings were too much for me, I'd go out to the gardens for awhile or visit the statuary in another room.
One of the best parts of the day was getting to help a lady who spoke no English with her questions about the museum and the furniture displays. It's been ages since I've conducted a whole conversation in French. There were a couple of words that I didn't know, but I filled in the way I used to. I was thinking in French again. I liked the weight of the language in my mouth. For a minute, it felt like a part of me had returned from a long exile.
There was a long conversation with one of the guards, too.
I kept returning to the pools and runnels and fountains that are part of the architecture of the place.
I watched the sunset into the ocean over Santa Monica. It was spectacular.
The garden pulled me back several times in different lights. Why do people feel the need to talk so loudly? The garden was gorgeous, but people kept shouting at each other. Even the nighttime discussions were loud.
I discovered tuberoses. That's one of the oddest things about being in Southern California. There are plants blooming even at this time of year. On one side of the garden was this intriguing vanilla and lemon peel scent. The bells of the flowers hung so low they knocked against my face. I didn't know what they were, but then, on the other side of the garden, there was the same plant. It's flowers were older; the edges were a darker cream and some were beginning to turn brown. That plant had the heavy, rich, womanly fragrance of tuberose. The age of the flower makes a difference to the scent. It's so cool.
All in all, I spent nine hours at the museum alone, wandering where I wanted to. It was a nice day.
