In Which the Writer Returns Home
Yesterday morning I set out for the Mall in Washington DC, planning to walk the whole thing, end up at the Library of Congress or the Folger Shakespeare Library, and sit there soaking up the booky goodness. But then, just past the White House, I got distracted by the Corcoran Gallery of Art, which was intriguing not only because workpeople were laying a new coppery roof but because they had an exhibit running called "Sargent and the Sea." I happen to love John Singer Sargent. So I went inside and ended up spending the day looking at paintings and writing in the cafe.
Here's the thing about John Singer Sargent: He did extensive sketches, even full oil paintings at times, in preparation for his larger works. So, you'll see a whole wall full of small paintings of individuals, and then you look at the next wall, and there's a large painting containing all the individuals together in a scene. When I first realized this, I thought to myself, gah, how boring and ted…
Here's the thing about John Singer Sargent: He did extensive sketches, even full oil paintings at times, in preparation for his larger works. So, you'll see a whole wall full of small paintings of individuals, and then you look at the next wall, and there's a large painting containing all the individuals together in a scene. When I first realized this, I thought to myself, gah, how boring and ted…