Musee d'Orsay

It's only natural that the impressionist movement started in Paris. Parisians, with their revolutions and protests and haughty disdain for anything that didn't originate with in Franc, have just the rebellious streak for such a rejection of classical art.
The impressionist movement was the first movement toward modern art. The artists rejected the former perfectionism in the majority of art up until that time. They painted things as they perceived them, no matter how imperfect, rugged, or sexual their subject was. The Salon was the impressionists reaction to their rejection by the art community. They may not be accepted in most circles, but they could create their own circle. So began the history of the Salon, eventually gaining respect and commissions. It was a place for the misfits, until the misfits became the masters.
I'm a far cry from an art critic. Walking around Musee d'Orsay certainly proved that. Oh but it was beautiful. The

art leapt off of the walls. Art students sat beneath sculptures for hours at a time, pouring over their sketchbooks and replicating these creations.
My favorite paintings seem to be fairly girly. No deep meaning hides within my admiration. I like simplicity in my art. It reminds me of my childhood, my family, and the things that I prize most in life.

A bouquet of fresh flowers. My niece's snaggletooth smile. Walking with my Daddy in his cattle fields. Sitting snuggled up to my mom watching Anne of Green Gables. Simplicity, I think, calls to my generation because today's typical life is rushed and hectic and full of deadlines and emails and goals to be achieved before we are too old to do anything but be

still. Perhaps it called to the artists of the Impressionist movement, as well.

I stood looking at Claude Monet's two "Woman with A Parasol," admiring the soft pastel colors. The way the wind blew their ivory dresses made me think that the ocean was nearby, just over the hill. These paintings make me want to jump into the scene. To be that lady, gracefully gazing at the poppies, with nothing to worry about except my next dinner party.

Alfred Sisley's "Rest Along the Stream" captures a lovely moment of stillness as a girl reads a book in the stillness. I love it because it's beautiful, and because I've spent hours of my life sitting just like that. Underneath a tree with a book in my hand. Minus the petticoat.