When I say Ula sticks very close to me when I paint, I am not kidding. Here she is wedged right between the feet of my easel. All those oil colors are precariously close to her light hair. It's a worry. But, oh, what a wonderful face to look down upon!
Even when the weather is not perfect, when it is overcast and it drizzles a little too persistently, the light in Paris is marvelous. I struggle with finding the right words. It's something I feel only in Paris, nowhere else -- a sense that life is being lit just as it should be.
In reading Edmund de Waal's wonderful book, The Hare with Amber Eyes, I find a quotation from the poet Rilke about Paris in the spring. I can see that light again.
...in my own experience only Paris and (in a naive way)
Moscow absorb the whole nature of the spring into them
as if they were a landscape...
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