Color upon color. Color, upon color, upon color. Form, formless. Layers, coats. Warmth. It was Monet. Monet going blind. Monet seeing again. Monet nearing the end of his physical impression on Earth. And we are here to see it.
I rushed into Bing concert hall slightly late, but still safely on time. I scurried to will call, picked up my ticket, and walked briskly to the entrance to section B. I was taken along the concourse to section D - where I actually was supposed to sit. All the way on the side. Damn.