Monet at the Harvard Art Museum and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston
Loneliness is a superior emotion.
During the week in Boston, almost every teacher began by congratulating us on our luck—lucky to encounter Boston's fine weather. For a city that endures over half a year of cold and blizzards, a cool, sunny summer is indeed the happiest weather for Bostonians, or perhaps it's the New England immigrants' inherent humor in discussing the weather.
The schedule of study and visits was packed but not stressful; packed because of the rich content, not stressful because the sun sets late, giving us twelve hours of daylight. Add to that the pleasant weather and scenery—the joy came from the modern Boston skyline, the elegant MIT campus, the quietly flowing Charles River, the early summer breeze, and groups of students exercising or studying on the grass.
I spent most of Saturday at the Harvard Art Museum, especially in the oil painting section. It had been a year since I first saw a Monet exhibition in Shanghai. Back then, I was only amazed by Monet's use of color. This time, the experience was different—with a deeper understanding of the era and the artist's life, I gradually felt a hint of dialogue with his work.
These were Monet's early days, when he was still struggling to make a living in the suburbs of Paris and preferred depicting the beautiful scenery around the city. The chimneys that originally appeared in the view were removed because they marred the landscape, but the haze from industrialization still lingered on the canvas. Perhaps Monet felt that viewers didn't want to see jarring symbols of industrial production, but he also didn't want to abandon the true scenery, so he preserved that touch of gray as best he could.
Later, Monet became famous and had his own house and garden, allowing him to leisurely study light and the same scene at different times—a feeling I experienced when seeing the Rouen Cathedral and Haystacks at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
The sun is not visible in these paintings, yet you can feel the scorching light and shadow. What offers even more room for imagination than the composition itself is the sense that on those leisurely afternoons, Monet could immerse himself in his own world, in an open field under the sun, quietly exploring the light and shadow he loved, aimlessly and without concern for livelihood—pure art. I stood before that painting at the Museum of Fine Arts for a long time. Our moments of solitude are precious. Loneliness should not just be a record of an emotion; it should also include a complete disregard for the noise of the world and a total devotion to what fascinates us—a superior expression of inner abundance.
Right now, I'm sitting on the steps of MIT, typing, accompanied by music and coffee. In front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor, a torrential rain is pouring. Alone, I miss my family deeply, yet I also enjoy the solitude.
