When I finished my breakfast, I brushed my teeth and headed for the musuem. Being outside is one of my passions. I love the natural air. I love being able to walk out of the door not knowing what to expect.
The walk to the musuem isn't long, so in less than ten minutes I've already arrived. The exhibit they're having is about old artists that have become legends. Learning is something I love to do. It's a shame that my tutor only visits twice a week.
Monet is one of the most appraised paintors here. And one of my father's favorites. He says that he and my mother have a lot in common because of this artist. My father's way of life is being free. He always believed in liberty. When I was little, he would take me hiking and teach me how to love nature. How to become it. I've always appreciated that. My mother used to be more free in her youth. But, when I was born her motherly instincts kicked in and the only thing that consumes her life now is me and my father. It's sweet, but I wish she would learn to love life more.
Suddenly, two fingers tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to discover a tall young handsome man. I'd say he's my age. His black hair was slicked back and his brown eyes were looking at me.
"Excuse me ma'am. I do apologize for intruding, but I can't understand any of these paintings. I have much trouble trying to understand what they mean. Could you do me the favor and explain please?"
"Of course, uhh.."
"Robert Hockley." He answered for me.
"Well, this one in front of us is from the artist Claude Monet. The painting is called The Water Lilies." I said as I showed him the nearest painting.
"It's breathtaking." He admired.
"I agree. What I love the most is the detail of each water lily. And the mixture of color is exquisit."
"Indeed it is. What do you think it means?"
I laughed. "Mr. Hockley not everything has a meaning! I believe Monet just saw beauty in the lilies, and decided to extract them on a canvas."
He laughed. "Do you see what I mean when I don't understand anything about art?"
The we both laughed and continued walking to see other paintings.
I spent the rest of the evening teaching him how to love art and at the end of the day, we were having a conversation where it would usually fit my father and myself.
"I had a lovely time Mr. Hockley, but I do believe I must return home."
"Very well Josephine." We gave our proper goodbyes and I was off. To go home and tell my father how I taught someone to love art.
When I arrived, I found my mother making dinner.
"Josephine you're coming home pretty late. Did you have a nice time?"
"Yes mother I did. I taught someone how to appreciate art!"
"Oh how wonderful! Go tell your father, he'll be so excited."
"Where is he?"
"He's in the bedroom, drawing."
My father has a gift. Well many. His love for art expands everyday. And when he was a child, he learned to draw on his own. It's his passion. When he starts one, he doesn't finish it until it's perfect. My mother says that was the reason she fell in love with him. His talent brought her to life. You see, she ran away from her old life. She used to be apart of first class. And my father of third. He would sell his art on the streets. And when they met, they ran away togther. They're love is unbreakable. Things were hard for them, but they succeded and now we live happily. Apart of second class. But really, none of us care about labels.
"Dad? You'll never believe what happened!" I said all excited as I walked into the bedroom.
My father was laying on the bed, extremely concetrated on the sketchbook in his hands.
"What's up sweets?"
"I taught someone to love art!"
"Oh that's amazing!" He got up and gave me a huge hug. "Who did you talk about most?"
All of his concetration was gone. His big eyes are excitedly staring down at me and he's impatiently waiting for my answer. Like a child on Christmas morning.
"Monet of course!" I smiled.
"That's my girl!"
The door opened and my mother's head peaked inside.
"Dinner's ready." She announced. My father ran up to her, gave her a kiss, and they both ran to eat the food while it was hot.
I went over to the bed to see what my father was working on, a love i've always had.
It was of my mother, but different. She was with a heavy jacket on and a livebelt with icicles all over her body, including her face. She was on a door, in the middle of the sea. Next to a thousand little figures drowning in the ocean.
