Claude Monet was the founder of French Impressionist painting, also known as Impressionism, in the late 1800s to early 1900s. With a grocery-store owner father and a mother who was a trained singer, I imagine he had a little bit of practicality mixed in with his artistic abilities. Although . . . and maybe this is just me . . . oh who are we kidding? Rembrandt, Vermeer, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Wagner, Sibelius, Debussy, Puccini . . . let’s stop now before we join them in their depression. Have you ever noticed that the artistic temperament in such a person usually wins out? C’est la vie. Actually, someone called Monet’s painting style “Impression” with the intention of disparaging it. Little did the critic know that name would become a badge of honor. By the 1920’s, cataracts affected his vision, but he continued to paint. They say cataracts affected how he perceived colors. Although he was no stranger to poverty, today his paintings hang in museums the world over.
Compare his artistry with that of more defined and deeply colored art by Michael Wagner or Georgia O’Keeffe. We certainly don’t have to guess what their paintings are; that is to say, the lines are more sharply delineated and colors clear. And, as I’m writing, I’m thinking of yet unknown but very talented artists such as Stacy Andrews Inglorian, who is skilled in various mediums, and maybe even Tricia Schield, who shows great promise.
I don’t know much about art, but we all know a thing or two about impressions. It used to be that when we read something, we could be fairly certain of its veracity. Except we couldn’t. We just thought we could. We were under the impression that news-bearers were truthful. Now we can read or listen to any number of information sources and at the end of the seemingly reasonable item or news still ask ourselves whether it was true. Or, at least, what parts of it were true.
For instance, when I first heard that “they” (who I guessed was the medical establishment, perhaps big pharma; and some of you will think deep state) had been keeping treatments and cures from the population, it seemed believable. Hold back the cure, and reap continual drug profits. If you have no moral standard, it makes sense. I hoped such cures would be revealed soon. Who doesn’t want a cure for diabetes, Parkinsons, or cancer? Bring on the wonder drugs! Then I started hearing more curious things about suppression of treatment. I unfollowed a podcast that talked about medbeds (not the medbeds that alert the nursing station to a patient’s need, but medbeds that can provide cell-regeneration and healing without surgery or drugs) because it seemed to me to be the stuff of sci-fi. But information continued. And one day last week, a fellow who works in the pharmaceutical industry and who I’ve found to be level-headed and trustworthy talked about them. He went on to say there are other, smaller devices, too. Imagine your doctor scanning you with a hand-held device and receiving healing then and there! Oh I know what you’re thinking. I thought it, too. But I’m going to keep watching and listening.
In the matter of the 2020 election, there is all sorts of information and impressions to form. Who won? Who really won? Why is a prominent news network so upset about an audit in Arizona? Who wouldn’t want to make certain a vote was true and sure and not finagled? Why in the world is the federal government trying to insert themselves into a state’s authority? And yet information about it is flying fast and furious. No, not that fast and furious. Well, maybe that, too.
What about the latest virus? Or masks? Or treatment? Or immunization? What about the New World Order, the Bilderbergers, the Trilateral Commission, or the Committee of 300? What about the Rapture? Or Great Tribulation? Or mark of the beast? Or thousand year reign of Christ? What are we to believe?
We find ourselves in more of a Monet painting than that of O’Keeffe. While I like both artists, I’d rather have the lines I live in well-delineated and colors clear. The truth will set us free, after all. But we are not free, and we are not living in those times. We are living in Monet. And it is our responsibility to keep searching for truth regardless of disparaging critics.
https://www.claudemonetgallery.org/biography.html; https://www.biography.com/artist/claude-monet; https://www.therichest.com/poorest-list/10-famous-artists-that-died-penniless/; https://www.classical-music.com/ https://fineartamerica.com/art/bright+colors; stacylynnandrewsfineart on Instagram; pexels-harrison-macourt-6599771.jpg; https://americaoutloud.com/the-quantum-healing-technologies-of-med-beds/; pexels-photo-356056.jpeg; https://www.nationalreview.com/2016/01/fast-furious-obama-first-scandal/; AZAudit.org; DominoesFalling-medium.gif; pexels-pixabay-221164.jpg; pexels-download-a-pic-donate-a-buck-^-54379.jpg; Iron Mountain Report; Revelation 13:16-17; Revelation 20; Micah 4:1-7, 5:4-5; John 8:31-32; The painting on this blog post is not Monet, but it reminded me of him. It is by: nick-fewings-FRM8_MzE_YQ-unsplash.jpg
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– twice – she helped the parts of getting dressed that little hands could not quite manage. A glance at her watch told her there would be just enough time for a dawdling breakfast and another change of clothes before preschool.
she watched them light the late night dark. They passed by the house. It wasn’t her. She sat down again. She was glad the Good Lord never slept and that He was up at this time of night as she prayed over her fears. Car lights flashed on the wall and the sound of a car in the driveway diminished her worry. She picked up a book and pretended to be engrossed in it as her child crossed the threshold on the dot of curfew.
